Читать книгу Solid as Steele - Rebecca York - Страница 9

Jamie wasn’t going to start off by telling him she’d been plagued by psychic dreams since she’d been little. She was going to avoid that, if possible. And she wasn’t going to explain that the dreams had stopped when she came to Baltimore with Craig.

Could she convince Mack with a concrete fact? Up till now, she’d avoided using a name, even in her thoughts, because that made the dream too real.

Now she raised her head and said, “The woman’s name was Lynn Vaughn.”

His instant alertness unnerved her. It was like when Craig was working on a case.

“How do you know?” he said.

“I just do.”

“Maybe we’d better check that out.”

“Okay,” she whispered, wishing again that she’d kept her mouth shut. What was Mack thinking now? From the look on his face, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t like his speculations.

“Where’s your computer?” he asked.

“In the office.” Craig’s old office, which she’d kept looking like he’d left it so that when she sat at the desk she could pretend he was going to come to the door and ask her to get out of his chair.

She and Mack walked to the office, where Mack stopped for a moment in front of the desk before sitting down and booting up the machine. Jamie took the beat-up easy chair where she’d liked to sit and read while Craig was working in the evening. Usually he’d work late, and then they’d go upstairs and—

She ruthlessly cut off that line of thought. As Mack waited for the computer to go through the start-up routine, he said, “Lynn Vaughn, right?”

“Yes.”

He brought up one of the programs you could use to locate people and typed in her name, plus “Gaptown.”

Jamie sat with her pulse pounding, wondering if she had everything backward. What if it had been her dream, and she’d somehow pulled that woman into it? When Lynn Vaughn’s listing came up, he dialed the number from his cell phone and put it on speaker so they could both hear. She sat clenching the arms of the chair as a woman answered on the first ring. It was the middle of the night, but obviously she wasn’t sleeping.

“Lynn?” Mack asked.

“No. Who is this?”

“I’m an old friend of Lynn’s. I was hoping to get in touch with her.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize the time,” he said, lying with the same facility that Craig had exhibited when he worked a case. “Is she there?”

Jamie could hear the tension in the woman’s voice as she replied.

“Lynn didn’t come home this evening, and she didn’t call me. That’s not like her. I’m worried.”

“Have you called the police?”

“I—”

“You should do that,” Mack said.

“What did you say your name was?” the woman asked.

Instead of answering, Mack clicked off and swung the chair around so that he could look at Jamie.

“Will she have your cell phone number on her caller ID?” Jamie asked.

He shook his head. “How did you know Lynn’s name?”

She thought about how to answer. “I…don’t know.”

“And you don’t have any specific information about her tonight?”

“What kind of information?”

He shrugged and kept his gaze on her.

“Like I told you, I had a dream,” she repeated.

His reply totally startled her.

“I’m going to Gaptown in the morning.”

Her own response was just as startling. “If you’re going, I’m going, too.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I’m not staying here if you’re driving up there,” she said, hearing her urgent tone and wishing she didn’t feel compelled to return to the scene of so many unhappy memories before Craig had offered her an escape hatch.

She’d been taking classes at the local community college and working at the Star Bar and Grill when she’d met him. He’d come to town investigating an insurance fraud case in which a doctor had colluded with patients. Dr. Bradley had documented injuries after automobile accidents, injuries that he wrote up as much worse than they really were. The patient would get a nice insurance settlement, which he split with the doc.

The moment Craig had walked into the restaurant, she’d been attracted to him. They’d gotten to talking, and he’d told her he’d be in town for several days. He could have eaten at a lot of different places, but he kept coming back when he knew she’d be on shift.

He’d been out of his element and lonely. She’d been friendly, and they’d ended up getting something going. They’d had a lot in common. He was from a small town, too. In Ohio. Only he’d had a scholarship to one of the state colleges.

After he’d sewn up the case against the doctor, he’d had another job that had brought him back to town. And after that, he’d kept returning to visit her. She’d moved to Baltimore to be with him, and gotten a job in the shop at 43 Light Street with Sabrina Cassidy. Pretty soon after that, she and Craig had gotten married.

Because she’d been ambitious, she transferred her credits to UMBC. She’d just gotten her degree in history when Craig had gotten killed, and she’d canceled her law school plans. Better to wait awhile before getting back into serious studying again.

“I’m spending the night,” Mack said, totally disrupting her thoughts.

Jamie blinked. “You certainly are not!”

Mack kept his gaze on her and his voice even. “I don’t want to leave you alone tonight.”

“Because you suspect I’m up to something illegal?”

“Of course not,” he answered, too quickly for her taste.

“You shouldn’t be alone. That’s all.”

She stared at him, knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to physically run him out of the house. She wasn’t going to get Craig’s gun and point it at him, either, but she didn’t have to make this easy for him.

In a voice dripping with ice, she said, “If you want to sleep on the couch, go ahead.” As she spoke, she remembered that the bed in the guest room had clean sheets, but she kept that to herself.

“Okay,” he answered, his tone mild. “You go on up and I’ll stay down here.”

The fight knocked out of her for the moment, she turned her back to him and without another word, she walked out of the kitchen.

MACK WATCHED THE RIGID set of Jamie’s shoulders as she exited the room. He was sure she hated having him here, but that wasn’t going to make him back down. He was worried about her, and he was glad she hadn’t put up too much of an argument. Still, she was being as inhospitable as possible. When she had climbed the stairs, he walked into the living room and looked at the couch, which wasn’t exactly going to be comfortable for his six-foot-two frame. She hadn’t even offered him a blanket, but an afghan lay along the upper edge of the backrest. He kicked off his shoes and arranged several small, square pillows behind his head. Then he unfolded the afghan and lay down, trying to adjust the covering so that it would warm both his feet and his shoulders.

Had Jamie taken her clothes off upstairs and gotten back into bed? Or was she lying on top of the covers in her jeans and plaid shirt? Craig’s plaid shirt, actually.

He forced himself to stop thinking about what she was doing up there and focused on earlier in the evening. She’d been genuinely upset when she’d called the office. So what was going on?

Perhaps she really had some inside information on Lynn Vaughn, but didn’t want to admit what she knew, so she’d made up the nightmare story to create an explanation.

He glanced at the stairs, then walked quietly back into the office where he sat down at the computer again. After another furtive glance at the door, he called up the secure database that Light Street used and accessed Jamie’s phone records. As far as he could see, she hadn’t made any calls to Gaptown in the past few weeks. And she hadn’t received any, either.

Again he glanced at the door and listened for sounds of activity upstairs. After long moments of quiet, he opened Jamie’s email and looked at her messages. Once more, he found nothing that had to do with the reason she’d called Light Street.

He breathed out a small sigh, relieved but feeling guilty about snooping.

Still, he’d like to know if she’d been back to Gaptown in the past few weeks.

He wished he could stop thinking and acting like a detective when it came to Jamie. She’d asked him if he thought she was up to something illegal. He didn’t want to believe that, but the alternative didn’t exactly make sense. Although she’d said she’d had a dream in which she watched something bad happen to Lynn Vaughn, she’d never spoken of any psychic experiences before, nor had Craig ever mentioned anything like that about his wife. But would he tell anyone else something that weird?

Mack couldn’t help wondering if Jamie was stressed beyond the breaking point by her husband’s death and then life on her own. Of course, he wasn’t going to say that to her.

Trying to turn off his inconvenient thoughts, he returned to the living room, laid his weapon on the coffee table and lay down. Eyes closed, he courted sleep. It wasn’t that easy with two little pillows under his head and his stocking feet sticking out onto the end table. But he finally dozed off.

In the morning he was startled awake by a crashing noise.

Springing off the sofa and reaching for his weapon, he looked for the source of the sound and saw a light in the kitchen. As he rushed in, gun in hand, he saw Jamie, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, standing in front of the stove, where she was lighting a burner that held a heavy frying pan. Presumably, she’d just slammed the pan onto the burner by way of a cheery good morning gesture, leaving no doubt that she was still pissed at him.

She turned and gave him and the weapon a considering look. There was no need for her to ask how he’d slept because that was all too obvious—he’d tossed around in rumpled clothes most of the night.

He brushed back his hair and ran his tongue over his teeth. “I don’t suppose you have an extra toothbrush?” he asked.

She waited several beats before taking pity on him. “In the medicine cabinet.”

He went upstairs, used the facilities, then washed his face and brushed his teeth. After rubbing his dark stubble, he reopened the medicine cabinet and got out one of the pink disposable razors.

Her shaving cream was on the edge of the tub, and he used that, too, feeling guilty about taking liberties, but he was feeling more human when he came back down.

The smell of eggs, bacon and coffee drew him to the kitchen, where Jamie was moving briskly about, getting down plates. He could tell from her quick movements that she wanted to pitch him out of the house.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I’ve got it under control.”

He poured himself a mug of coffee, then helped himself to eggs from the pan and bacon from a plate sitting on the stove.

“Toast?” she asked.

“That’s okay.”

“Do you want it or not?” she snapped.

“No, thanks.”

So much for civil conversation.

After she’d sat down across from him and taken a few bites of the eggs, he said, “You still want to come with me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“But I’m going anyway. I think you’re going to need me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Half of him wished he hadn’t been on duty last night, and the other half was glad that he had been there when she called, but he couldn’t tell her that or much of anything else.

“Pack an overnight bag,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because it’s a long ride and we might not get back tonight.”

“Fine.” She ate a piece of bacon before asking, “What about you?”

“We’ll stop at my house. I keep a bag packed.”

She nodded, then got up and scraped the rest of her breakfast into the trash. He ate a few more bites, then cleaned off his own plate.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“About what?”

“Upsetting you.”

She made a sound like harrumph and began cleaning the pan where she’d cooked the eggs, her shoulders rigid.

He turned away, went back to the living room and folded up the afghan.

“I’ll be right back,” she said over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. When she was gone, he waited a moment, then pulled his cell phone from the holster on his belt and called the office.

Max Dakota answered. “Mack, I see from the log that you checked out last night. Where are you?”

“Something came up. I need to make a quick trip to Gaptown.”

“Because?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s personal,” he said, glad that Light Street detectives had a lot of freedom. Still, he held his breath until Max said, “Okay.”

“I could be out for a couple of days,” he added, just as Jamie stepped back into the living room and stopped short when she saw he was on the phone.

As she gave him a long look, he said, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Who was that?”

“The office.”

She kept her gaze on him as she asked, “Did you say you’re driving a nut to Gaptown?”

“Of course not,” he snapped, then changed the subject, striving for an even tone. “You packed fast.”

“We’re not going out dancing,” she muttered.

“Yeah. Right.

“Do you want me to take out the trash?” he asked. “I mean, since you’re going out of town.”

She hesitated for a moment. “All right. The cans are by the back door.”

He pulled the plastic bag out of the kitchen trash can and carried it outside. When he came back she was loudly shaking out a new bag, and he knew she was uncomfortable with him doing a job her husband had obviously taken care of when he’d been alive.

The little kitchen drama set the tone for the trip to western Maryland. After a quick stop at his house to pick up his bag, they headed down Route 70 toward Hagerstown, then onto Route 68 toward Gaptown—the supposed scene of her nightmare.

JAMIE SLID HER EYES toward Mack, then away as she sat in the front seat of his SUV, wondering what she was doing there. She could have stayed home, but she’d insisted on coming along, and once she’d committed herself to the trip, she’d known that he wasn’t going to let her drive her own car.

Now she felt trapped in the front seat with Mack Steele, wishing she were anywhere else. What if the dream was something she’d conjured up out of her own anxiety? She’d be embarrassed that Mack was driving her all this way to check out a figment of her imagination, but that would be the end of it. Despite her mixed emotions, she clung to that hope as they drove west, the terrain becoming more hilly the farther they got from Baltimore. Her refuge. She’d established a life in the city, and she was going to keep living there.

Last week, she’d gotten a letter from her mother, asking her to come home for a visit. She’d ignored the request, because going home always stirred up the bad feelings between herself and her mother’s boyfriend, Clark Landon, along with memories from her childhood that she’d rather forget.

Her earliest recollections of her father were of him staggering around the house drunk, yelling at her mom. Because of his fondness for the bottle, he’d barely been able to support the family with a series of jobs for the railroad, a couple of trucking companies and then as a delivery man for a local flower shop. Because home hadn’t been a warm and comfortable place, she’d spent as much time elsewhere as she could. She’d haunted the library and gone home with friends after school. But the time would always come when she had to go back to the dilapidated bungalow where she lived. And she never knew what she was going to find there. Maybe her parents would be fighting. Or maybe Dad would be at one of the bars he frequented, and Mom would lock the door to keep him out. Then he might smash a window to get in and cut his hand and end up in the emergency room.

Dad had finally drunk himself to death before he was fifty, which had made home life calmer. They’d gone on welfare, which hadn’t even made much difference in their lifestyle.

She’d still been living at home when she’d met Craig. Moving to Baltimore had been the first step in her break from the past. They’d had four good years together, and when he’d gotten killed, she’d been in danger of slipping into depression—until she’d pulled herself together and started over again on her own.

She’d thought she was in pretty good shape—until she’d woken up scared and shaken last night after a nightmare trip back to Gaptown.

The closer they got to home, the more her nerves jumped and the more certain she was that she wasn’t going to like the outcome of this trip. Not at all.

“Slow down,” she said. They were the first words she’d uttered since she’d gotten into Mack’s car. “There’s a speed trap ahead.”

He pressed on the brake and they rounded a curve, where a cop car with flashing lights had stopped another motorist.

“Thanks,” he said. “Was that a psychic insight?”

“No,” she snapped, then continued in a milder tone.

“I’m a native. I know the cops are lying in wait for out-of-towners around that bend.”

When she saw a highway sign coming up, she felt a little jolt as the exit name flashed by. Smokehouse Road.

“Take this exit,” she said.

“Why?”

“Take it,” she insisted.

“Why?” he asked again.

“I don’t know for sure,” she answered honestly. “But I think we’re going to…find something.”

She gripped the sides of her seat as he took the exit a little too fast. She wished she knew why she was giving him these directions. Or maybe she already knew, and she didn’t want to admit it.

“Right or left?” he asked with an edge in his voice when they came off the exit ramp.

“Right,” she answered, wondering why she was so certain where they were going. There was absolutely no hesitation on her part as she gave him directions.

They drove for a few more moments before she told him to turn onto Jumping Jack Road.

FROM A HIDING PLACE where he was sheltered by the woods, the man who called himself Fred Hyde took a bite of the caramel, nut and chocolate bar he’d brought along. He chewed with appreciation as he watched the activity down the hill through binoculars. All those cops rushing around looked like a bunch of ants serving their queen.

He laughed. Yeah, ants.

He’d considerately left the body where it was going to be easily spotted—along the side of the road in a nice open valley. Then he’d made himself comfortable up here, waiting for the fuzz to show up and get to work. They’d be from Gaptown, but he knew there was a cooperative investigative unit that drew on some of the other surrounding jurisdiction.

He’d seen them find Lynn Vaughn’s I.D., so they knew who she was, but they didn’t know why she was here. And, of course, he’d worn rain gear that wouldn’t leave any fibers on the body. He’d also moved the woman from his property to this location, so they weren’t going to find any clues to his identity.

But he wanted them to understand that something serious was going on in their little town, with its speed traps and cops who were so quick to do their duty.

He would have liked to keep enjoying the show, but he had work to do. He took a last bite of the candy bar and crumpled the wrapper, but he wasn’t dumb enough to drop the trash where someone could find it and maybe get a line on his DNA. Instead he put the crumpled paper into his pocket and started down the other side of the hill to where he’d left his car. Things were moving faster now. He had to set up the funhouse again to get ready for the next victim.

“NOW WHAT?” MACK CLIPPED out as he continued down the blacktop.

“Keep going,” she directed, hardly able to speak around the tight feeling in her throat. Pictures were forming in her mind, but she thrust them away. She could be making them up. She hoped she was making them up.

He drove past a couple of farms and a country store.

“You know this area?”

“Of course. When I was in high school, my friends and I would come out here to drive around.”

They didn’t speak again until she saw a crossroads with a restaurant, bar and gas station.

“Turn left here.”

He slowed the car and made the turn. From the small commercial area, they drove into the mountains, where they passed widely spaced farms and houses. When they rounded a steep curve, they were stopped by a police car with flashing lights blocking the road.

A few cars were pulled up along the shoulder, and several spectators were standing along the blacktop, craning their necks toward the center of the activity, where two more patrol cars were pulled up, along with an ambulance.

Mack rolled down the window and pulled up beside a man in jeans and a plaid shirt who was standing on the shoulder and staring toward the cop cars. “What’s going on?”

“Guy found a woman’s body.”

Jamie had been hoping against hope not to hear that news. Now she dragged in a sharp breath as the words slammed into her.

“A local resident?” Mack asked.

“Don’t know. The cops have been asking if we know a Lynn Vaughn. That must be her name.”

Jamie felt a shiver go over her skin as her worst fears were confirmed. She’d been with Lynn Vaughn in her dream. She’d been afraid someone had killed the woman, and now she knew for certain it was true.

“You know her?” the guy asked, looking from Mack to Jamie and back again.

“No. We just happened down this road. I guess we’d better go back the other way,” Mack answered easily, giving nothing away before he rolled up the window, made a U-turn and got them out of the vicinity. He kept going toward the road where they’d exited the highway, then turned into the parking lot of the country store they’d passed earlier. After finding a parking space, he cut the engine and turned to Jamie.

His face looked grim. “I thought maybe the dream came from your imagination,” he said.

She lifted one shoulder. “Even after I gave you a name, and you confirmed that she was a real person?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe that’s what you wanted to think, but I knew something had happened.”

“You dreamed about a murder that turned out to be true….”

Somehow she managed to keep her voice even as she said, “I was hoping it didn’t end that way.”

His eyes boring into her, he said, “People don’t dream about a murder one night, then find out the next day that it really happened.”