Читать книгу Manhunt - Carla Cassidy - Страница 7

He didn’t want to be here, but his choices had been limited. Take a desk job, get out of town and into the field or look for a new job. The first and third options were unthinkable so Nick Mead had taken the second option.

He now slowed his speed and turned down the radio playing oldies as he realized he had to be approaching the small Podunk town where he would head up a task force looking for a killer.

Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, he thought of another killer, a madman who had destroyed his life and tormented him for the past three years.

He called himself Murphy, but most of the men in the bureau called him NOP…an acronym that stood for Nick’s Own Psycho.

After three years of hunting, hating and hungering for revenge, Nick, at times, felt as psycho as the man he sought.

He knew that was one of the reasons his supervisor had sent him out into the middle of nowhere. The big guys in the bureau thought Nick was on the edge, obsessed with a single case and of course, they were right on both counts.

He slowed down even more as he approached a sign that welcomed him to Cherokee Corners, Oklahoma. Officially he and his two-man team weren’t expected until the next day, but Nick had decided to arrive early and get a feel for the town and its people.

The main area of town was built on a charming center square. The mayor’s office and the post office were in the center, surrounded by a lush parklike setting. It took him only moments to recognize the town as a diverse mix of Native Americans and Caucasians.

Although Nick had spent the last three and a half years working out of the Tulsa office, he knew very little about Native Americans and their culture. Before Tulsa he’d worked for seven years in Chicago. He was well versed in Latino tradition, Italian culture and Irish pride, but he knew next to nothing about Indian life.

Too big to be a town, too small to be called a city, Cherokee Corners seemed to exist somewhere in between. The previous chief of police, Thomas James, had been a man of vision. Nick knew he’d implemented a small crime lab and had several crime scene investigators working for the department.

Nick also knew there were three places in a town to learn the pulse of the people who lived there—the local watering hole, the barbershop and the café or diner.

He didn’t want a drink, didn’t need a haircut, but his stomach had been growling enough to let him know it was lunchtime.

There were three cafés at various places around the center square. He chose the one that looked the busiest.

A cacophony of sounds and scents greeted him as he walked through the door. The overriding odor was one of frying hamburgers and onions, but beneath that pungent scent was the faint fragrance of cooked apples and baking bread.

The place was packed. Clinking silverware, chatter and laughter and a cook calling “order up” all created the chorus that sang of a successful establishment.

A big older woman with blond hair in a sort of beehive concoction greeted him from behind the cash register. “Tables and booths are all full, handsome, but if you don’t mind being a counter fly there’s a stool open at the end.”

He’d noticed that the name of the place was Ruby’s Café and had a feeling the woman was none other than Ruby herself. “Thanks,” he said and smiled. “I guess being a counter fly is better than being a bar-fly.”

She grinned, her blue-shadowed eyes sparkling in amusement. “Ah, not only are you handsome as sin, but you have a sense of humor, too. If I were two decades younger I’d have you for lunch.”

He winked at her. “If I were two decades older…I’d let you.”

She was still laughing as he slid onto the empty stool at the end of the counter. He opened his menu, quickly made his selection, then leaned back in the stool and tuned into the bits and pieces of conversations that floated in the air around him.

A table of farmer types were complaining about the weather and predicting a long rough winter. Two women at another nearby table were discussing the trauma of potty training, and the two men closest to him at the counter were discussing the latest nosedive on Wall Street.

The atmosphere in Ruby’s was one of peaceful coexistence, a comfortableness among the patrons and a sense of community as people departed and arrived and waves and smiles were exchanged.

“Sorry you had to wait,” a young waitress said as she stopped before him, order pad at the ready.

“No problem. Just a burger and fries,” Nick said. “And a glass of milk.”

By the time his order had arrived, some of the lunch crowd had dispersed and only Nick and two other men remained at the counter.

Nick ate quickly then lingered over a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie.

“How’s that pie?” The big-haired blonde moved from behind the cash register to stand on the opposite side of the counter in front of Nick.

“Best I’ve ever had,” he replied truthfully.

“Just passing through or sticking around?” she asked with open curiosity. “By the way, I’m Ruby, owner of this fine establishment.” She stuck out a meaty hand with long, scarlet fingernails.

“Nick Mead. Nice to meet you and I think I’m sticking around for a while.”

“Good. This town could use a little more eye candy when it comes to the male population.”

“Why, I do believe you’re flirting with me, Ms. Ruby.”

She laughed and nodded her head, blond curls bobbing on plump shoulders. “I come by it naturally.”

She leaned over the counter and winked at him conspiratorially. “My great-grandma owned and ran the first brothel in these here parts. I come from a long line of flirts and lovers.” She stepped back from the counter and patted her big belly. “Unfortunately, I like my food better than I like most men.”

He laughed, then sobered. “Maybe you can help me, Ruby. I plan on hanging around town for a while, but I need a place to stay. I pulled up the Cherokee Corners home page on the Internet and noticed there were several options. Maybe you can direct me someplace?” Although the agency always made arrangements for the men they sent out in the field, Nick usually opted to make his own. Besides, the locals always knew which places were good and which were not so great.

Ruby frowned. “No hotels in town and the only motel is out by the highway. I suppose the sheets are clean enough but I wouldn’t go swimming in that swamp water they call a pool. If you want to be treated well and like a little extra TLC, there’s the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast across the square. If you decide to go there, tell Alyssa I sent you.”

“Alyssa?”

“Alyssa Whitefeather. She owns the place, including the ice-cream parlor that’s the bottom floor.”

“Thanks, Ruby.”

“No problem…and don’t be a stranger.” She moved back to the cash register to take care of a departing diner.

As Nick finished up his coffee and pie, he thought about what to do for accommodations. Cherokee Corners was a town that thrived on the tourist trade and the Web page had listed half a dozen places for overnight accommodations.

He had no idea how long he would be in Cherokee Corners. It could be a week or two, it could be a month or more. Certainly the amenities of a bed-and-breakfast sounded far more appealing than a motel room, especially if his stay would end up being a prolonged one.

Besides, he hadn’t been in a motel room for almost three years. As he walked from Ruby’s to his car, his mind flashed visions of the last time he’d been in a motel room.

It had been the somber and sympathetic faces of his co-workers that had told him it was bad. They’d tried to keep him out, to talk him into not going inside the room, but he’d needed to see.

He still remembered the painting that had hung on the wall directly above the bed. At first he’d thought it was some sort of weird abstraction of sorts. It took him a moment to realize it had once been a serene landscape before blood had splattered it and run in rivulets down the canvas.

He hadn’t wanted to look at the bed, but knew he had to…he had to see with his own eyes that Murphy had followed him from Chicago to Tulsa, that Murphy had extracted a price of revenge that was beyond comprehension.

She lay there, blond hair splayed like sunshine on what had been a burnt gold bedspread. That’s what he’d called her…his sunshine. Dorrie…his sunshine, his wife of five years.

The last time he’d seen her had been that morning as they’d shared breakfast. It had been over scrambled eggs and wheat toast that they’d decided it was time to try to start a family. With her blue eyes shining brightly, she’d told him she wanted his baby.

Now she lay sprawled on the bed, naked and with a garish grinlike wound where her throat had been slashed from ear to ear. On her chest, a postmortem wound in the shape of a capital M—Murphy’s signature.

He slid behind the steering wheel of his car and consciously shoved the painful images out of his mind. He couldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t let thoughts of Murphy screw up the case he was about to take on. He had a murderer to find right here in Cherokee Corners.

But, eventually he’d find Murphy. His fingers curled painfully tight around the steering wheel as cold, barely controlled rage filled him. Eventually the son of a bitch would pay in the worst kind of way for taking Dorrie’s life.

“If you take care of restocking the napkins, I’ll refresh the toppings,” Alyssa said to Mary, the young, blond-haired woman who helped her out through the summers at the ice-cream parlor that comprised the bottom floor of the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast.

“Okay,” Mary agreed good-naturedly.

Alyssa smiled warmly at the woman. She’d been a blessing in the past couple of months. Mary had not only pitched in and worked more hours than usual, but had supported Alyssa emotionally through dark days, when it had seemed that every evil spirit in the world had tormented the people Alyssa loved.

Things had calmed down for the moment, at least for the James family, the people Alyssa claimed as her own. Alyssa’s aunt Rita, who had been kidnapped two months ago had been returned safe and sound to her family.

It had been a town scandal of massive proportions when it was discovered that Jacob Kincaid, the wealthy, respected owner of one of the banks in town, had sneaked into Alyssa’s aunt and uncle’s home, hit her uncle Thomas over the head and kidnapped Rita. He’d held her in his basement for weeks while the rest of the family had gone crazy trying to find her.

It was only through the police work of Alyssa’s three cousins, Savannah, Breanna and Clay, that Rita had been found and Jacob Kincaid arrested. It was later discovered that there had been two women before Aunt Rita, women who had not been rescued but who Jacob had killed.

The silver lining, if there could be one, was that through the course of the investigation, her cousins had all discovered love as they searched for their missing mother.

Alyssa should be feeling the reflecting, warm happiness of the people she loved, but instead she was exhausted, reeling from the latest bout of visions she’d been suffering…visions of bloody and violent death.

It didn’t help that a serial killer was loose in the town. In Alyssa’s mind this would always be the summer of fear…first because of her aunt Rita’s kidnapping and now because of the heinous murders taking place in Cherokee Corners.

“I’ll bet the whole town turns out next week for Clay and Tamara’s wedding,” Mary said as she busily filled the napkin holders.

Alyssa smiled, grateful for any topic that would momentarily take her mind off her worries. “I still can’t believe that stubborn cousin of mine agreed to be married in a traditional Cherokee ceremony.”

“It doesn’t surprise me. He’d do anything for Tamara. There is only one thing better than the love of a good woman,” Mary began.

“And that’s the love of a good man.” Alyssa laughed as they both chorused the words.

She got busy refilling the bins that contained nuts, multicolored candy sprinkles, chocolate chips and all the goodies kids liked to use to top off their ice-cream cones.

She wouldn’t mind having the love of a good man in her life, but that wasn’t likely to happen as long as she lived here in Cherokee Corners. Too many of the eligible bachelors in town were either frightened by her or thought her crazy.

Besides, she didn’t have time for romance. Between running the bed-and-breakfast and the ice-cream parlor, she barely had time to breathe. Things were especially busy this time of year, when the late-August heat made the thought of a banana split or a sundae particularly attractive and tourists filled the town.

Things would slow down in a couple of weeks when school began again. The kids of the town would disappear back into classrooms and the tourists would return home until next summer.

“I’ll be right back,” Alyssa said. “I’ve got to get more sprinkles from the storeroom.”

“While you’re doing that I’ll make sure all the tables and chairs are clean,” Mary replied.

Alyssa smiled her thanks, then entered the storeroom and began the hunt for the candied sprinkles amid the other stock. As she searched she heard the tinkling bell over the ice-cream-parlor door announce the arrival of the first customer of the day.

“Good afternoon.” Mary’s voice rang out with her usual cheerfulness. Good afternoon to you, too.” The deep, smooth male voice was unfamiliar to Alyssa.

“What can I get for you? Our special this week is our Brownie Delight for only ninety-nine cents,” Mary said as Alyssa located the plastic jug of candy sprinkles.

“Actually, I’m not here for ice cream. My name is Nick Mead and I just arrived in town. Ruby from the café across the square sent me over here. I need a room.”

At that moment Alyssa stepped out of the store room and had her first look at the man inquiring about a room. Shock held her rooted in place. A rushing wind resounded in her ears as the plastic jug of candy slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.

“We have no rooms available.” She heard the voice above the roar of the wind and recognized it as her own.

“Alyssa…remember, the Carlsons checked out late last night. The blue room is available,” Mary said.

Words of protest refused to rise to Alyssa’s lips as Nick Mead’s intense blue eyes gazed at her curiously.

All she knew was an incredible need to escape from his gaze, from his very presence. “You take care of it, Mary.” With the roar of dangerous winds still deafening her, Alyssa left the jug of sprinkles lying where it had fallen and escaped through the door that led to her private living quarters.

She went directly to the sofa and sank down, afraid her trembling legs wouldn’t hold her up a moment longer. The vision. She grabbed a strand of her long dark hair and worried it between two fingers, trying to shove away the thought of the recurring vision she’d been having for the past month or so.

She’d suffered with visions all her life but none had been as vivid, as disturbing as the one that had recently haunted her, the one that had included a man who looked exactly like the one who had just walked into her establishment.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, lost in a haze of stunned shock, when a light tap on her door pulled her from her nightmarish reverie. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened and Mary peeked her head in, concern wrinkling her forehead. “Are you okay?”

For a split second Alyssa wanted to tell Mary exactly what tormented her, but she’d told nobody about the terrifying, horrible visions she’d been experiencing. She now tried to shove those images aside and focus on her friend.

She forced a smile to her lips. “I’m fine. I don’t know what happened in there. I was suddenly very light-headed and dizzy.”

“Have you eaten anything at all today?” Mary sighed audibly as Alyssa shook her head. “I swear, Alyssa, you’re up before dawn every morning cooking breakfast to take care of your guests, but you never take the time to take care of yourself.”

“I’ll fix something now,” Alyssa said. “I’m just giving myself a minute or two to get my feet back under me again.”

“Take your time. I’ve got everything under control,” Mary assured her. “I got Mr. Mead settled in the blue room. I don’t know if you noticed or not before you got all wobbly, but that man is definitely lust-after material.” Mary winked, wiggled her fingers in a goodbye gesture, then closed the door and left Alyssa alone.

Alyssa closed her eyes and drew a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. She still felt cold and shaky and knew it was the residual effects of experiencing complete and utter shock. Nick Mead. She now knew his name. Mary had said he was “lust-after material” but she didn’t have to tell Alyssa that. Although she was a virtual stranger to Nick Mead, he was intimately familiar to her.

For the last month she’d had visions of making love to a stranger, a handsome man with dark hair and ice-blue eyes. She knew exactly how his lips made demands when he kissed, knew the white-hot heat his caressing fingers could evoke. She knew the rhythm of his hips against her own as they made hot, frantic love.

She knew all this and yet she hadn’t known his name until now, had never met him before today. For the past month she’d been haunted by visions of the handsome Nick Mead, visions that came from some unidentifiable force, visions that almost invariably came true.

She had no idea what force had brought him here to Cherokee Corners, but she didn’t want him here. She didn’t want him in town and she certainly didn’t want him under her roof. Danger…her brain screamed. His appearance here, the reality of him, made her head ache with dread.

But he was here…in Cherokee Corners, a guest in her bed-and-breakfast. Maybe he would only stay the night then be gone with the morning dawn.

Struggling up to her feet, a momentary wave of hope winged through her at this thought. If he left first thing in the morning, then it was quite possible she wouldn’t see him or talk to him again and maybe her terrible visions of him would cease.

An icy chill once again clutched her as she thought of the visions that had haunted her for the past month. The visions of making love to him wasn’t what frightened her, but each time, the vision ended with her stabbing him in the chest…stabbing him over and over again.