Derek and Perdue exchanged brief looks that he interpreted to mean they were in agreement about Hines. And ten minutes later, they left the trailer park and headed back to the airport where they would eat supper and catch a night flight to Laredo.
Once on the road a few miles from the trailer park, Derek broke the silence between them. “My educated guess is that whoever our killer is, he has the means to buy airline tickets from wherever he lives to Knoxville, Memphis, and Arizona.”
“Yeah, I agree. And Hines looks like he doesn’t have two nickels to rub together.”
“Our killer isn’t necessarily wealthy, but not only does he have to have enough money for airline tickets and enough to afford the fancy masks he left on each victim, but possibly fake ID, disguises, and hotel rooms. And he has to be able to take time away from his job.”
“Travis Dillard could afford to pay for airline tickets to just about anywhere and it’s possible he still owned the masks used in the movie.”
“You aren’t allowing your prejudice against Dillard to form your opinion of him, are you?” Derek asked.
“Maybe,” Perdue admitted. “But I say we cross Hines off our suspects list or at the very least move him to the bottom. And for now at least, we put Dillard at the top of that list.”
“I agree,” Derek said. “For now. But I figure Dillard’s physical condition would make it difficult for him to carry out the murders.”
“Difficult, but not impossible. Besides, he has enough money to hire a professional.”
“We agree again.” Derek grinned. “Amazing, isn’t it, how much we’re beginning to think alike. We may wind up being best buddies after this case ends.”
Keeping her eyes glued to the road ahead, she replied, “No way in hell.”
Lorie lifted her gaze from the article in
Tea Time
, a magazine for tea party enthusiasts, and glanced across the room to where Shelley Gilbert sat immersed in a paperback novel. She had taken off her jacket before dinner, but she still wore her shoulder holster.
Lorie folded a page in the magazine—an advertisement for a teapot vendor—and laid the magazine aside. At the beginning of the year, Lorie and Cathy had decided to branch out at Treasures and include tea party items and perhaps even in the future rent the empty store next door to their antique shop, renovate it, and use it as a tearoom.
She missed Cathy and would be glad when she returned from her honeymoon. Four more days. But she dreaded having to tell her best friend what was happening in her life. In less than two weeks, her whole world had been turned upside down. Because her life had been threatened, she now had a 24/7 bodyguard.
As if sensing Lorie was looking at her, Shelley glanced her way and smiled. Lorie returned her smile and said, “I’m thinking about fixing myself a root beer float before bedtime. Want one?”
“Make that a Seven-Up float for me, if you have Seven-Up. I’m not a big root beer fan.”
“One Seven-Up float and one root beer float it is.”
Shelley got up, laid her book in the chair, and followed Lorie into the kitchen. Lorie entered first, stopped dead still and gasped. She hadn’t yet turned on the overhead light and the only illumination came from the dim hallway sconces and the three-quarter moon shining through the kitchen window.
“What is it?” Shelley asked quietly as she paused behind Lorie.
“I could’ve sworn I saw someone outside peeking in the kitchen window.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure. It could have been my imagination. I’ve been pretty jumpy lately, but—”
“You stay here,” Shelley told her. “I’m going out the back door and I want you to lock it behind me.”
“Be careful,” Lorie said.
Shelley pulled the 9mm from her shoulder holster, eased open the door, and walked onto the back porch. Doing as she’d been instructed, Lorie locked the door. But she pulled up the Roman shade covering the glass top half of the door and peered out into the darkness. Shelley left the porch and entered the yard. Lorie held her breath.
“Stop or I’ll shoot,” Shelley called loud and clear.
Oh God! What if Shelley had caught the killer? She checked her watch. Nine fifty-eight. Nowhere close to midnight. But maybe he’d been casing her house, checking out her comings and goings, and ascertaining the danger in trying to get past her bodyguard.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, Shelley reappeared, a man about five-ten walking slowly in front of her, his hands held high above his head in an I-surrender-don’t-shoot gesture.
“Call nine-one-one,” Shelley shouted. “I’ve caught our intruder.”
After she sent a patrol car to Lorie’s house, the dispatcher had called Mike. He had contacted his mother, asked her to come over and spend the night to look after Hannah and M.J., and then he had broken the speed limit from his house to Lorie’s. When he arrived, Deputy Buddy Pounders opened the door for him.
“What have we got here?” Mike asked.
“Ms. Gilbert caught the guy red-handed,” Buddy said. “He was snooping around outside the house.”
“Was he armed?”
“No, sir, not unless you consider a camera a weapon.”
“A camera?”
“I’m a reporter,” a voice called out loudly.
“The guy’s a reporter for the
Huntsville Times
. He showed me his credentials. He’s legit.”
Mike stomped into the living room, where he found Shelley Gilbert standing over a cowering young man sitting on the sofa, a look of sheer terror on the guy’s face. Then Mike scanned the room and found Lorie standing in the arched double doorway that led into the dining room.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “Just a little shaken up.”
Mike turned around and glared at the reporter. “What’s your name?”
“Ryan Bonner, sir.”
“What the hell did you think you were doing sneaking around outside Ms. Hammonds’s home? Do you realize that at the very least, she can charge you with trespassing?”
“Yes, sir. I—I was just trying to snap a few pictures of Ms. Hammonds without her knowing it. And I thought maybe I might overhear the ladies’ conversation. I really need an exclusive in order for the paper to hire me as a full-time reporter.”
“What sort of an exclusive did you think you’d find here?” Mike asked, hoping his gut instincts were wrong about why this guy wanted a story on Lorie.
“Hey, it’s no secret that something’s going on, that Ms. Hammonds has a bodyguard. And don’t ask me how I know. I don’t have to reveal my sources.”
“You’re right, you don’t. But you do have the right to call a lawyer.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“That depends.”
“I won’t be bullied into not writing my story,” Ryan said. “I’ve done my research about Ms. Hammonds, you know, or should I call her Cherry Sweets? That was some
sweet
centerfold she posed for, but nothing to compare to that movie she made.”
Mike saw red. Literally. The rage inside him boiled over and it took every ounce of his self-control not to punch Ryan Bonner in the mouth.
“Buddy!” Mike bellowed the deputy’s name.
“Yes, sir?”
“Escort Mr. Bonner down to headquarters.”
“You can’t arrest me!” Bonner shouted.
“Take him in for questioning.” Mike grinned. “And by all means, let him call his boss at the
Times
or his lawyer or anybody else he wants to call. But under no circumstances is Mr. Bonner to be released tonight. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is police harassment,” Bonner whined.
Mike turned his back on Bonner while Deputy Pounders led him to the patrol car. He knew there wasn’t anything he could do to stop the gung-ho reporter from writing an exposé about Lorie’s past. It wasn’t as if her years in LA were a big secret. But after being back in Dunmore for nine years and slowly making a life for herself here, Lorie had earned a second chance, at least with the townspeople. But if Bonner retold Lorie’s old story—from hometown beauty queen and talent contest winner to
Playboy
centerfold and porno star—tongues would start wagging and the ladies from the WCM would get riled up all over again. Lorie would become the center of attention for all the wrong reasons.
He paused outside the front door, his thoughts a mixed jumble that he needed to straighten out before seeing Lorie again.
Did he really believe she deserved a second chance? Yes, of course she did.
Just not a second chance with him.
Damn it, man, you want her. You know you do. Every time you see her, all you can think about is how it used to be between the two of you. You want to touch her. Hold her. Kiss her. Make love to her.
What he wanted and what was good for him were two different things. Lorie was all wrong for Sheriff Michael Birkett and his two children.
He had to keep things on a professional level; otherwise, he’d wind up in a sticky situation that could damage his career and wreak havoc on his personal life. And he could wind up hurting Lorie more than he’d already hurt her.
Taking a deep breath, Mike reached for the door handle, opened the door, and walked into the house. He found Lorie pacing the floor in the living room and Shelley Gilbert standing guard. Both women turned to face him.
“Buddy is taking Mr. Bonner to headquarters,” Mike said. “If you want to press charges for trespassing or—”
“Does he know about the death threats?” Lorie asked.
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think he knows anything specific other than the fact you have a bodyguard.”
“How could he have found out?”
“Any number of ways,” Mike said. “Maybe one of your neighbors snooped around and found out what’s going on or even somebody working for me might have inadvertently let something slip and it got passed on. It’s hard to keep secrets in a small town.”
Lorie sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly.
“I can hold Bonner overnight for questioning, but that’s it unless you press charges. And I’m not sure you want to do that.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“He knows about your alter ego, Cherry Sweets,” Mike told her.
God, how he hated the pain he saw in her eyes. “Bonner wants to do an exposé on you—then and now—in the hopes it will get him a promotion to full-time status at the
Huntsville Times
.”
“He can’t do that! He has no right,” Lorie said. “I’ll hire Elliott Floyd and threaten to sue him and the newspaper if they print one word about my past.”
“You can do that and you probably should, but you have to know that if what they print is the truth—”
“Their version of the truth.” Lorie wrapped her arms together around her waist in a hugging gesture and closed her eyes.
Shelley cleared her throat. “If you can stick around for a while, Sheriff, I need to contact the agency about this,” Shelley said. “We’ll want all the info on Ryan Bonner we can get. And we’ll want it now.” She glanced at Lorie, who stood in the middle of her living room, a dazed expression on her face. “I won’t be long, okay?”
Lorie nodded. “Okay.”
When they were alone together, Lorie sad and on the verge of tears, Mike’s male instincts urged him to comfort her.
Talk to her. Reassure her. But don’t touch her.
“Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, this had to happen.” Lorie looked at him. “Not only do I have a serial killer who intends to make me one of his victims, but I have a zealous reporter who plans to exploit my life story in order to get a promotion.” She laughed, the tone despondently mocking. “What’s that old saying about if not for bad luck I’d have no luck at all?”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more to help you.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Mike took a tentative step toward her and then halted when she was within arm’s reach. It would be so easy to pull her into his arms, to hold her against his body, to brush his lips over her temple, to tell her he’d die before he would let anyone harm her. “You’ve got twenty-four/seven protection with Ms. Gilbert, and between her and the patrol car I’ve assigned to keep watch shortly before and after midnight every night, you’re relatively safe. As for that damn reporter—everybody in Dunmore already knows about the
Playboy
spread and the porno movie.”
Lorie swallowed. “My illicit past has come back and bitten me in the ass big-time. No matter what I do, how hard I try to be a good person, how much penance I pay, I can’t obtain a pardon.”
“Don’t.” He reached out to her, his hand hovering over her shoulder. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“What’s the matter, Sheriff, don’t have the stomach for watching my self-flagellation?”
His hand fell away, down to his side, as he kept his gaze focused on the agony he saw in her eyes. “I don’t know what to say. Tell me how I can help you.”
“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me! I don’t want your pity.”
“Damn it, Lorie, don’t be so stubborn.”
She threw up her hands in an I-give-up gesture. “Why did I ever think this town would allow me to live down my past when the man who once professed he would love me forever, no matter what, can’t forgive me?”
“Lorie, please…”
“Please what? Understand why you feel the way you do? Do you have any idea what it’s like to look into the eyes of the man you’ve loved since you were sixteen and see nothing but disgust and pity?”
He stared at her, momentarily unable to speak or move, while her words soaked into his brain. Her words—
the man you’ve loved since you were sixteen
—played over and over in his head. Surely she didn’t mean that she still loved him. How could she love him after the way he had treated her all these years?
“Please leave,” Lorie told him. “I appreciate everything the sheriff’s department is doing to help me, but from now on I don’t see any reason for you to stay personally involved.”
“I…uh…I’ll let Ms. Gilbert know that I’m leaving,” Mike said, unable to think of anything else to say.
Lorie rushed past him and down the hall toward her bedroom. Mike clenched his jaw tightly. He had handled that all wrong. But then him doing that with Lorie wasn’t something new. He had been handling his feelings for her in the wrong way ever since she returned to Dunmore.
Why hadn’t he listened to his mother and to Molly years ago when they had both encouraged him to forgive Lorie?
“She ruined her life and practically destroyed herself in the process,” Molly had told him. “And she lost you.” His wife had caressed his cheek. “How horrible for her. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose you.”
“You’ll never lose me, sweetheart.”
She had smiled at him, that beautiful smile that he still saw every day whenever he looked at his son.
“You should be kind to her,” Molly had said. “Go to her, tell her that you forgive her, that you’ll be her friend.”
His Molly had been kind and generous. Despite the fact that in the beginning, she had felt threatened by Lorie’s return, she had overcome her fears and found it in her big, loving heart to plead with him to forgive Lorie.
He would have done anything for Molly, especially during the final year of her life, but that one thing—forgive Lorie. Molly had to have known what it had taken him years to figure out, that his inability to forgive Lorie had as much to do with him still loving her as it did with him hating her.
Molly, Molly. I’m sorry, sweetheart, if I ever gave you any reason to doubt how much you meant to me. I loved you. I miss you every day.
“You’re still here?” Shelley Gilbert asked as she walked into the living room. “Lorie said you were leaving.”
“I was just going,” he replied.
Shelley nodded.
“Is she all right?” He glanced down the hallway.
“Not really. She was crying, but doing her best not to.”
“Take care of her.”
“That’s my job.”
“There will be someone outside for the rest of the night,” Mike said.
“Thanks. I think we’ll be okay.”
Mike let himself out, went to his truck, and got in. He sat there behind the wheel for several minutes, then finally started the engine and backed out of the driveway.
Lorie came awake abruptly, her body trembling, her thoughts in utter chaos. The nightmare had seemed so real. A masked figure in a black cape had chased her through downtown Dunmore in broad daylight. She had been completely naked. Exposed. Ridiculed by the outraged citizens, led by the ladies from the WCM. And Mike had stood on the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, a condemning glare in his dark eyes, and done absolutely nothing to help her. She screamed, pleading with him to save her. The masked stalker had grown larger and larger until his form blocked out the sun, leaving her hovering in a shadowed corner, weeping, frightened, and waiting for death.
Allowing herself a few minutes to shift from the horror of her nightmare to the safety of reality, Lorie sat up, tossed back the covers, and slid to the edge of the bed. She sat there, her bare feet on the floor, and considered the meaning of her dream. It made a weird kind of sense. The masked stalker was the unknown killer who posed a danger to her life. Mike’s disregard for her was no mystery. And the utter fear that she had felt was perfectly normal, considering she was marked for death.
After getting out of bed and slipping into her house shoes, she found her robe at the foot of the bed and put it on. The bedside clock read 3:50
A.M
. The last time she had noted the time, it had been shortly after midnight.
She had cried herself to sleep.
If she were alone in the house, she’d go to the kitchen and make coffee. But she didn’t want to wake Shelley.
Moonlight streamed in through the windows, casting a soft, creamy glow across the floor. She followed the moonlit path to the windows and looked outside at the front yard. Her heart caught in her throat when she saw the familiar truck parked in her driveway. Mike’s Ford pickup. What was he doing there? Had he been there all night?
She didn’t want him there, didn’t want him standing guard over her house, over her. Damn him, why couldn’t he just go away and leave her alone? She didn’t need him. Didn’t want him.
Liar!
Securing the tie belt of her robe around her waist, Lorie opened her bedroom door and tiptoed down the hall. Before she reached the living room, Shelley called to her.
“Lorie? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just restless. Go back to sleep.”
“If you’re up, I’m up.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and an oversized Georgia Bulldogs T-shirt, Shelley walked toward Lorie.
“Mike’s outside,” Lorie said.
“He’s been there all night.”
“I’m going out there to tell him to go home.”
“I can do that for you.”
“No. I want to talk to him.”
Shelley nodded. “I’ll disarm the alarm system and watch you until you reach his truck.”
“Thanks.”
For a few seconds, Mike thought he was hallucinating. He had been thinking about Lorie, remembering how it had once been between them, worrying about the danger she was now in, wishing he could erase every bad thing that had ever happened to her. And now here she was walking down the sidewalk, coming straight toward his truck. As she approached, he debated whether to open the door and step outside to meet her or just wait for her.
He waited.
She pecked on the window. He rolled down the window and looked at her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone none too friendly.
“It’s not even four o’clock yet.” He answered her with a question. “What are you doing up at this time of the morning?”
“We need to talk.”
“Do we?”
“Unlock the passenger-side door,” she told him.
“Okay.”
She rounded the truck’s hood, opened the door, and climbed into the cab. Turning sideways, she faced him. He laid his arm across the back of the seat, his hand almost touching her shoulder.
“Shelley told me that you’ve been parked out here all night.”
“She’s right. I have.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” he asked.
“I have a private bodyguard. I don’t need you hovering over me.”
“I’m not hovering. You were inside. I was outside. Plenty of distance between us. You’re the one who knocked on my door and invaded my space.”
“Don’t do this,” she told him. “Don’t blow hot and cold. It’s not fair to me. It took me a long, long time to accept the fact that we could never be anything to each other ever again, not even friends. Your concern for me now is sending me mixed signals. I can’t handle that.”
“I’m sorry. It was never my intention to—”
“To feel sorry for me, to show me a little human kindness.”
“To confuse you,” he corrected.
“Well, I am confused. Not just about you, but about me, and about this whole damn mess that my life has become.”
Unable to stop himself, he moved his hand a couple of inches until he touched her shoulder. Apparently taken off guard, she jumped and then went rigid. Their gazes met there in the semidark interior of the truck cab, which was illuminated only by the moonlight.