Читать книгу Manhunt - Carla Cassidy - Страница 9

It was still dark outside when Alyssa pulled herself out of bed the next morning, still dark when she finished showering and got dressed.

Exhaustion weighed her down as she left her small, private quarters and entered the large kitchen. Now she would begin the process of baking muffins and biscuits, browning sausage and frying bacon and all the other tasks that would result in a breakfast to remember at the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast.

There had been a time when she’d done these chores with joy, but lately the daily grind was beginning to take its toll on her. She was tired, tired all the time, but this morning the weariness weighed heavier than usual.

Of course, it didn’t help that she got very little sleep the night before, she thought as she rolled out the dough for biscuits. Knowing Nick Mead was beneath her roof had kept sleep at bay.

As she worked, she thought about the handsome FBI agent. Just because she’d had horrible visions about him didn’t mean they would come true. She’d long ago learned not to take what she saw in them at face value.

Sometimes they were just what they were, but other times they were filled with symbolism and meaning she only understood after the events in the vision had come to pass.

But, no matter how she twisted and turned the images her latest vision contained, they still frightened her, especially now that the man in her vision was here in town.

She tried to shove thoughts of Nick and her visions out of her head as she worked. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing in order to make the kind of meal guests had come to expect from her.

Dawn was breaking in the east, a sliver of light peeking over the last of the night clouds when she sat at the island with a cup of coffee.

It was almost six and even though breakfast officially started being served then, guests were rarely up that early. It was usually seven before anyone appeared in the dining room.

This was Alyssa’s favorite time of day, when all the preparations for breakfast were finished and she had these few precious moments to sit and reflect.

It was at this time of the morning when whisper-thin memories of her mother visited her. There were few memories, as Alyssa had lost her mother when she’d been four. But she still remembered a familiar scent, a sweet voice and loving hands roughened from basket weaving.

Her grandmother had been a basket weaver, as well. Alyssa had lived with her maternal grandmother until she was eleven, then her grandmother had passed away and Alyssa had been taken into the James family and raised with Savannah, Breanna and Clay by the loving, exuberant Rita Birdsong James and her husband, Thomas.

“Good morning.”

She gasped and tensed at the familiar deep voice. She turned on her stool to see Nick standing hesitantly in the kitchen doorway.

If she’d thought he looked handsome the night before, today he practically made her breathless. Clad in a lightweight, light gray suit, he looked coolly professional. “Something smells wonderful,” he said.

“If you’ll take a seat in the dining room, I’ll be glad to bring you some breakfast,” she replied.

“Actually, a cup of coffee will do me just fine for the moment.” Without waiting for an invitation, he walked over to the coffeemaker, poured himself a cup of coffee, then carried it over and sat on the stool next to hers at the kitchen island.

He was close enough to her that she could smell the scent of a subtle expensive cologne, see the long, individual lashes that framed those startling blue eyes of his.

Before his bottom was firmly planted on the stool, she jumped up from hers, not wanting to be near him. “Would you care for a muffin or something to eat with your coffee?”

There was a small part of her that resented that he was an early riser, that his presence had cut short the time she always allowed herself to just sit and relax.

There was a small part of her that resented that instead of sitting in the dining room like other guests, he’d invited himself into the kitchen area and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“No, thanks. I’m not much of a morning eater,” he replied, looking as comfortable as if he’d spent the last five years’ worth of mornings sitting in her kitchen.

“If you aren’t a breakfast eater, then you probably would have been better off getting a room at the motel out by the highway. It would have been cheaper.” She sounded like a disgruntled crab even to her own ears.

“Yeah, but they don’t offer turndown service.” His eyes twinkled, and there was a tone to his voice as if he was trying to flirt with her.

She turned her back and stirred a pot of gravy warming on the stove. Drat the man anyway. The last thing she wanted was him flirting with her. The last thing she needed was him having anything to do with her.

“I really prefer if my guests stay out of the kitchen,” she said as she turned back to face him. “You understand, liability reasons.”

“Of course,” he said, but didn’t make a move to stand. He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on her. “You intrigue me, Ms. Whitefeather. I sometimes stay at bed-and-breakfast establishments, and most of the time I find the proprietors cheerful and friendly, or motherly, or overeager to please. You don’t seem to fit the mold.”

His words made Alyssa realize just how odd and unfriendly she’d been around him. Perhaps she was drawing more attention to herself from him than necessary by being so distant and cool.

“I apologize,” she said and forced herself to sit on the stool next to him once again. “I’m usually not unfriendly, although I can tell you I have never wanted to mother any of my guests. You’ve just caught me at a bad time…with the murders happening in town and all.”

Instantly, whatever twinkle had lightened his eyes was doused. Instead, his eyes turned cold, like chunks of blue ice. “It’s been my experience that a murderer on the loose makes everyone on edge.”

He stood, grabbed his coffee cup and smiled. “And now I’ll go into the dining room like a proper guest should do.”

She breathed a sigh of relief as he left the kitchen. Her stomach had been in a knot since the moment he had said good morning. It was the visions, she told herself, and the fear of what might happen, that created the twist in her tummy. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was as handsome as the devil and charming as could be.

Within a half an hour the Harolds had joined Nick. The Harolds were a couple from Kansas City who were staying in the green room. They had been here for two nights and were checking out at noon that day.

As Alyssa filled the table with an array of breakfast foods, she listened to how easily Nick conversed with the older couple on a variety of topics.

He was as charming with them as he’d been with her and that made her feel better. He probably hadn’t been flirting with her at all, he’d just been being himself and that just happened to be exceptionally charismatic.

Within thirty minutes Virginia Maxwell had joined the group. Virginia, a pretty blonde, was the wife of the first victim of the serial killer. She’d moved into the bed-and-breakfast almost immediately after her husband’s murder, and was staying in the pink room.

The fourth person who rented a room from Alyssa rarely made it down for breakfast with anyone else. Michael Stanmeyer was something of a recluse. He’d been a guest of Alyssa’s for the past two years and he usually came down the stairs to the dining room after all the other guests had eaten.

From the kitchen, she heard Nick’s deep voice, although she couldn’t make out what he had said, but Virginia’s peals of tinkling laughter grated on her nerves.

In the three months Virginia had stayed here, Alyssa had found herself alternating between feeling sorry for the pretty woman and wanting to wring her neck.

She gathered up the last of the freshly baked biscuits and took them out to set on the table. “So, Ms. Whitefeather, when do you eat breakfast?” Nick asked.

“Ms. Whitefeather…my, how formal. Call her Alyssa and you can call me Virginia,” Virginia said. “And this is Dave and Cindy.” She gestured to the couple, who beamed at Nick with smiles that looked surprisingly alike. “And even though you’ll probably never see him, weird Michael is in the purple room.”

“Weird Michael?” Nick raised a dark eyebrow quizzically and looked at Alyssa.

“Michael Stanmeyer, and he isn’t weird. He’s just extremely shy.” Alyssa wanted to glare at Virginia, but instead she kept her focus on Nick. “Mr. Stanmeyer is a very nice man.”

“Speaking of nice men…” Nick looked at his watch and pushed away from the table. “I’ve got a couple of my friends to meet. I hope you all have a pleasant day.”

Alyssa could have sworn his gaze lingered on her for just a moment longer than on the others and she felt the beginning of a headache thrum at her temples.

No, she thought desperately. She was not going to have a vision…not here…not now. She had to control it. She had to suppress it. She’d done it before, felt the pressure of a vision trying to get through and had managed to back it away.

What she needed to do was get away…escape to the isolation of the kitchen where she could focus on refusing the vision entry into her mind.

“Excuse me, I forgot something…” She ran for the kitchen and sat on the stool where she had been sitting when Nick had first entered the room.

Gripping the edge of the countertop, she closed her eyes and fought against the dizzying blackness that sought to possess her. “No,” she whispered, the words a half sob.

But, no matter how hard she fought, the blackness came and immediately following the dark was a vision…the vision. Nick’s lips on hers, his hands stroking heat into every area he touched and finally her begging him to take her, to make love to her.

Then, as always happened, the scene changed, transformed into something ugly and violent. Nick’s face twisted with surprise and pain as she stabbed him and his blood splattered.

She came to on the kitchen floor, her hip aching from where she must have banged it when she slipped from the stool.

She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but she could still hear the sounds of the guests chatting and laughing in the dining room. Thank good ness. Nobody had seen. Nobody knew.

Two in two days. That wasn’t a good sign. She’d never had two visions so close together, first the one last night as she’d touched the bed where Nick would be sleeping, and now this one. Two in two days.

She had a feeling Nick’s presence had stirred the psychic winds and they were blowing cold through her one right after another.

The Cherokee Corners Police Station was housed in a low brick building that looked relatively new, but Nick supposed that was the glory of brick…it always managed to look relatively new. It was located two blocks off the city square on a quiet tree-lined street.

His two-man team was already waiting for him, sitting in the confines of the air-conditioning in Bud’s sports car. They both got out of the car as Nick pulled into the parking space beside them.

Bud Johnson, a tall, good-looking man with streaked blond hair, grinned at Nick. “There he is, looking fine and fit. Probably just ate a big breakfast at that fancy bed-and-breakfast he’s staying at.”

Nick nodded. “Eggs and toast, biscuits and gravy, muffins the size of your fist and all the sausage and bacon I could eat.”

“You pig,” Tony Marcelli exclaimed. Tony was a handsome man with two ex-wives that he claimed were bleeding him dry with alimony payments. “We had a couple of stale doughnuts and a cup of the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted.”

“I highly recommend Ruby’s Café for your dining needs. I ate there yesterday for lunch and dinner, and both meals were terrific,” Nick replied.

As if on cue the three of them turned and faced the police station. “Well, guess it’s time to go meet the locals,” Nick said.

Together the three of them entered the police station. The man behind the front desk eyed them curiously. “We’re here to see Chief Glen Cleburg,” Nick said and flashed his badge.

“Oh sure.” The officer rose and opened the secured door that led down a hallway. “The chief’s office is the second door on the left. He’s waiting for you.”

Nick led his team down the hallway to the closed door. He knocked and waited for a response, then opened and met the man he’d be working with for however long it took to catch their killer.

Glen Cleburg was a big man with graying dark hair and hazel eyes. Lines of stress bracketed his thin lips.

Initial introductions were made, then the men got right down to business. “We’d like to set up a six-man task force, including the three of us and three men from your department,” Nick explained. The chief nodded. “Perhaps you have suggestions as to who you want on the team.”

“Definitely Clay James,” Cleburg said without hesitation. “He’s head of our crime scene unit and is as bright as they come. He even runs a small lab in the back of the building.”

“You have a crime scene unit here in Cherokee Corners?” Bud asked in surprise. It was rare for a town so small to have trained crime scene investigators and particularly ones trained in forensic science.

“Yes, my predecessor, Thomas James, foresaw Cherokee Corners growing into a town that would eventually need well-trained police officers in all areas of law enforcement. I encourage my men to get all the education they can.”

“That’s commendable, sir,” Nick replied.

“As far as the other two members of the team, I’ll leave that up to Clay’s discretion. He can decide who he wants working with you.” Glen rose from his desk and motioned for them to follow him out of the office.

“I’ve set up a room for you to use. Unfortunately, space is not a commodity around here, so the room is rather small, but it’s the only place I could free up indefinitely.”

They all followed Cleburg down the hall to a room that had apparently been used as a classroom of sorts. It was, indeed, small, but one wall held a blackboard, and the other held a corkboard. It would be perfect for how Nick liked to work his task forces.

“I’ve had a separate phone and fax line put in and I’m having some of the other officers bring in a couple of computers for your use.” Glen frowned. “Unfortunately, you’ll find our computer system rudimentary. We’ve just gone from paper files to computers in the last couple of months and the automation is an ongoing process.”

“We’ll manage,” Nick assured him. Each of the agents had his own personal computer tied into every main computer for sharing information among law officials across the country. “What I’d like to do now is meet Clay James and get started.”

“Of course,” Glen said quickly. Again he gestured them down the hallway. “I must warn you, Clay is long on smarts, but sometimes he’s short on patience and social skills.”

“We’re used to that sort with Tony here,” Bud said. “He’s our resident Neanderthal man.” He clapped Tony on the back.

Nick smiled at the interplay between the two men who had been partners for the last five years. The three of them worked well together, often played hard together and despite their teasing, held one another in great esteem. Nick only hoped the three men that would join them from the Cherokee Corners personnel would work well with them also.

They found Clay James seated at a desk in the lab area. He looked up as they entered, a frown of irritation crossing his darkly handsome face. It was there only a moment then gone as he eyed the three men that accompanied his chief. He stood.

“Clay, these men are the FBI agents that are going to work the task force.” Again introductions were made and hands were shaken.

As Nick gripped Clay in a firm handshake, he saw in the man’s dark eyes a keen intelligence that assured him he would be a good addition to their team. He also noticed the black, shiny hair, the equally black eyes and the burnished skin tones that instantly made him think of Alyssa Whitefeather.

He’d hoped to win a smile from her this morning. He wasn’t sure why it had become important to him, but he wanted to see her smile. He wanted to see those lush lips of hers curve upward and a spark light the depths of her velvet-blue eyes.

She’d looked so pretty that morning when he’d first seen her from the doorway. Wearing a pale yellow sundress, as she was, and with her hair tied at the nape of her neck with a matching yellow ribbon, he’d wanted to sneak up behind her and place his lips on the vulnerable bared skin just beside her gathered hair.

He yanked his thoughts back to the moment. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Clay James. “What we’re wanting to put together here is a six-man task force consisting of the three of us and you and two other Cherokee Corners officers.”

“I told them you can decide who you want working with you, Clay,” Glen said. “Maybe Collins and Sheller or Cavannaugh or Winter.”

“Not Sheller,” Clay said with a definite tone of voice. “Collins and Winter will be fine.”

“I’ll leave you two to get to work,” Glen said. “But I want to make it clear that I expect to be updated daily and want to be aware of everything concerning these murders.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway.

“The chief showed me the room where we’ll be working. Do you want to gather up your other men and meet us in there?” Nick asked. “We’d like to get set up and at work immediately.”

Clay nodded. “I’ll find the other two officers and we’ll meet you in there in about ten minutes.”

The men parted, Bud and Tony following behind Nick as they headed back out the front door of the police station. “We’ll get our equipment inside and set up, then spend the afternoon going over the files,” Nick said.

The other two men nodded and headed for their car while Nick went to his own. From the back seat he grabbed the case that held his computer and his briefcase, then went inside to the room where Glen had said they could set up the team.

In the room, the first thing he did was place a long table in the center. This would be the pulse of the room, where he knew in the coming days the men would spend far too much time going over facts, speculating on possibilities and brainstorming together.

Another long table he placed against the back wall, where computers would be up and running, logged into systems that would tell them about similar crimes and the background of potential suspects, among other things.

He’d just started tacking up photos of the victims, when Clay and his two men entered the room. Clay introduced Nick to Simon Collins and John Winter. Collins was tall, pale, with sandy hair and a ready grin. John Winter looked Native American, his dark features expressing less openness than Collins, but still a reserved friendliness.

When Bud and Tony entered the room, introductions were made all the way around, then everyone got to work. By noon they had the room set up as a sort of war room. The corkboard held the victim and crime scene photos. Computers were plugged in and at the ready and a phone number had been established for the phone line, another for the fax line.

Nick looked around in satisfaction. They were ready to begin the process of finding a killer. The men were all seated at the table in the center of the room looking at Nick expectantly. “It’s vitally important that the six of us work as a team. I don’t believe in egos getting in the way of the investigation. We work this as a team and we solve it as a team.”

He sensed the others’ satisfaction with his words. He’d worked too many task forces, and in his experience had learned that there was no room for hot-shots. He had no patience for men who worked for personal gain instead of for the common good of the team to achieve their objective.

“We all sit at this table with strengths and weaknesses,” Nick continued. “Clay, you and John and Simon bring to the table the fact that this is your town. You know it and the people and that’s vital if the killer is a local.”

For the next several hours the men reviewed the facts of each murder, discussing the victims, the circumstances surrounding the deaths and any forensic evidence that had been found.

It was after five when they wound up. “We’ll make it an early day today,” Nick said. “But, I’ll warn you in advance, you might want to tell your wife, your girlfriend or your significant other that from here on out you’re on duty twenty-four hours a day. We’ll be working long hours and I’ll want each one of us to carry cell phones so we’re only a call away from one another at any time of the day or night.”

As the men gathered up their paperwork and got ready to leave, Nick turned to Clay. “Can I buy you a drink?” Nick figured it wouldn’t hurt to foster a little goodwill with the man who he knew would probably prove invaluable to the team.

“Sure,” Clay replied. “A beer would taste good right now.”

The two men walked out of the police station together. “You’ll have to help me out here. Since I’ve been in town, the only place I’ve been is to Ruby’s Café and I didn’t notice beer on the menu.”

Clay smiled. “No, but if you go in after six at night, you’ll probably smell it on her breath. The best place for a beer and a little quiet talk is Sanford’s. It’s just down the block. We can walk there.”

For a moment the two men walked in silence. Nick had already sized Clay up as a highly intelligent man with a knack for finding evidence when none seemed to have been left behind. He had a feeling Clay still hadn’t made up his mind about what kind of man Nick might be.

That was all right. Nick didn’t trust a man who jumped to conclusions too quickly. “Heard your family recently went through a pretty traumatic experience,” Nick said.

Clay looked at him in surprise. “Where’d you hear that?”

“When I spoke with Chief Cleburg initially he told me that he intended for you to work with me and he told me about your mother’s kidnapping. He also told me that if it hadn’t been for your stubborn diligence and work, she might have never been found.”

“Thankfully, we found her before she suffered any physical harm,” Clay replied.

“How’s she doing now?”

Clay’s mouth curved up in a grin. “You’d have to know my mother to understand that she’s a survivor. She’s exactly like she was before the kidnapping…enjoying life and her family.”

“That’s good to hear,” Nick said as they entered the darkened interior of Sanford’s. It was a typical small-town tavern, with pool tables in the back, a layer of thick smoke hanging in the air and a bar counter that had probably felt a thousand elbows resting on it.

Clay motioned to the bar and the two men slid onto stools. They ordered their drinks from a burly bartender who appeared to double as bouncer, as well.

“Are you staying out at the motel?” Clay asked.

“No, I’m staying at the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast here on the square,” Nick replied.

“Ah, my cousin’s place.”

Nick looked at him in surprise. “Alyssa Whitefeather is your cousin?”

“A close cousin. My mother raised her from the time she was eleven. She’s more like another sister than a cousin.” Clay took a sip of his beer, then continued. “I want you to know I intend to put all my time and energy into finding the bastard who’s killing the men of our town,” Clay said. “But the first thing I need to do is request Saturday off duty. I’m getting married that day.”

“Married? And you’re just asking for one day off?”

“My fiancée, Tamara, knows how important this case is. I’ve promised her a real honeymoon when we catch this creep.” Clay wrapped his hands around his beer glass. “You know, most of the town is going to turn out for the wedding. Maybe you should come, see the town people at play.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on such a personal ceremony,” Nick protested.

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be an intrusion, but if you are uncomfortable coming alone, I’ll set it up with Alyssa and the two of you can come together.”

Nick instantly felt a spike in his adrenaline, although he fought to keep his enthusiasm for the idea out of his voice. “Isn’t it possible she might already have an escort?”

“Alyssa? Nah, she never dates. I’m sure she’s planning on going alone.”

“Then that would be great. I could have a look at the folks there and won’t feel so out of place if I’m with a family member.”

“Then consider it done. I’ll call Alyssa tonight and set it up with her.”

“Alyssa…is she on medication for her epilepsy?” Nick asked.

There was no mistaking the blank look in Clay’s dark eyes. “Epilepsy?” he repeated slowly, as if the word was utterly foreign to his vocabulary.

“Yeah, I walked in on her last night and she was, like, in a trance. I asked her if she had epilepsy and was having some sort of seizure and she said yes.”

“So, she told you she has epilepsy? No, she isn’t on any kind of medication.” Clay lifted the beer glass to his lips, his gaze focused away from Nick.

And in that instant Nick suspected that Alyssa Whitefeather didn’t have epilepsy at all. She’d lied to him, and Clay was merely trying to cover her tracks. Interesting.

If she didn’t have epilepsy…if she hadn’t been suffering a petit mal seizure when he’d seen her in his room the night before, then what had she been doing? Why had she appeared like a woman in a trance…a woman completely gone from the real world and its surroundings?

The only answer could be she was hiding something from him. But why?