Deathscape (25 page)

“
Hey, Pete.”

He gave his widest smile as always. “You got too many magazines to fit into your mailbox. Shouldn’t have to walk all the way out there in this cold anyway.”

“
Thanks.”

“
Painting today?”

“
All morning.”

“
You planted the flower bulbs?”

“
Haven’t had the time yet. But I will. I promise.” He was such a nice guy, safe, stable. Why couldn’t she feel the same spark now that she’d felt every time Jack came near her?

Pete hesitated on the doorstep. “I found a beaver dam on the creek when I was out hunting last week. Pretty small for now but neat.”

The first thing she thought was how much she would have liked to paint that.

And maybe Pete saw the gleam in her eyes, because he asked, “Would you come out there with me?”

She stared at him for a confused second. Okay. She’d kind of known for a while that Pete was sweet on her, but this was the most forward he’d ever been about it. A date.

And why not? Maybe it would get her mind off Jack, who was nothing but trouble. She didn’t want to like a man whose entire life, first priority, was a murderer.

She wanted normal.

And it didn’t get any more normal than Pete, even if he was maybe a bit old for her.

“
Sure.” She’d promised herself she would start getting out of the house more. A walk in the quiet woods with a friend was just the thing.

His face lit up. “Saturday, then?”

“
Sorry, I have Maddie’s party on Saturday.” Well, she
might
. The FBI could catch Blackwell between now and then. She was going to keep her options open until the last minute, she decided suddenly.

“
After the party would be perfect. It’s not far from here. And the moonlight on the water around the dam is something to see,” Pete said with enthusiasm.

With anyone else, she would have thought twice about it, but Pete was…Pete. She knew his mother too, pretty well. It wasn’t as if she’d be going with a stranger. She’d been out at the grave in the middle of the night by herself. She could handle the beaver dam with Pete.

She’d done night landscapes before, had enjoyed the challenge of handling the light and colors. Maybe someday soon she would do another.

“
Okay,” she said and watched as Pete just about danced back to the mail truck.

He beeped the horn as he drove away.

She went back into the house, locked the door, and padded upstairs.

She was painting. And she was going on a date. Someday very soon, if she fought hard enough, she would have Maddie back. Her life would go back to normal.

All she had to do was not give up.

And forget Jack Sullivan.

* * *

By the time noon rolled around, Jack had gone back and forth between the two crime scenes in Jersey half a dozen times and had talked to everyone worth talking to. Yet he wasn’t any closer to figuring out whether the two kidnappings were connected or whether Blackwell had been involved in them.

Agent Hunter gave him a hard time about being there, but tolerated him as they reinterviewed key people. That Jack might be able to identify Blackwell from his voice helped. But nobody they talked to rang a bell.

Jack drove back from Jersey in a foul mood, not all that much cheered when he got a call from the high school principal.

“
Bobby is willing to talk to you.” The man sounded grim and cold. “On the condition that he doesn’t have to go to the station to be interviewed. And, of course, our family attorney will be present.”

Jack was too distracted by the two missing persons in Jersey to point out to the man that the boy wasn’t setting conditions here. “Fine.”

“
My attorney can be here by four,” Adamo said and gave his home address. “I’d appreciate it if you came alone. No uniformed officers and police cruisers. I have my standing in the community to consider.”

He should have considered keeping a closer eye on his son, Jack thought but agreed. With Harper still out, they were understaffed at the station anyway. The case wasn’t big enough to justify pulling one of the others off something else.

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. He had time to go out to see Ashley and try to talk her into going someplace until he caught Blackwell.

He knew, with everything he had, that the bastard had been on her land the other night.

The fact that he’d put the grave there couldn’t be a coincidence. At the beginning, Jack had thought it was because Ashley was involved with the man. Now he knew better.

But Blackwell could still be someone she knew, under another name. It might even be someone who liked her.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Maybe he’d been some sick gift to her. A cop, the biggest thing Blackwell had taken down so far. Of course, Blackwell hadn’t counted on her finding and saving Jack.

The mailman popped into his mind again. He’d looked at the man at the beginning, but Bing had talked him out of it, vouching for him. But this was too important to take someone else’s word for it.

So, on his way to Ashley’s, he stopped by the post office.

He lucked out. Pete was just coming in.

The man wore hunting boots, Jack noted, and wasn’t surprised when two minutes into their talk, the man’s alibi for the days in questions came up as a solo hunting trip. No alibi at all.

“
Would you mind lifting your foot?”

Pete looked at him as if he was crazy but did it.

Wrong treads, which didn’t mean anything. If he had one pair of boots, he would have others.

“
How about the day of the third, that Saturday? You said you came back from hunting in the morning.”

“
I was home with my mother. Then I went in to work for an hour in the evening to take over someone’s truck who had to leave early.”

Mother
wasn’t exactly the strongest alibi, Jack thought. He was definitely going to keep an eye on the man.

* * *

“
You’re so sweet,” Mrs. Kentner said, holding the small paintings at arm’s reach. “We really do appreciate your support.” She put the paintings on the living room table and lifted her purse from the floor, taking out a small box wrapped in sparkling paper. She handed it to Ashley. “For Maddie. Pete said she’s having her birthday party this weekend.”

“
Thank you. You really shouldn’t have.”

“
Well, the way things are going…” Mrs. Kentner gave a smile and a wink.

Okay, so Pete told her mother about the date. Ashley felt a moment of embarrassment, then pushed it away.

“
I’m so glad he came back home,” the older woman said. “He deserves something good. The way he took care of me with the cancer…” Moisture glistened in the woman’s eyes.

Ashley patted her hand. Pete did deserve something good, but was she it? A sudden wave of doubt rushed her. What was she doing with Pete? But then she thought, they were just going to look at the dam. They’d been friends for a long time. It didn’t have to be more than that.

“
I’ll have him bring you some venison.” Mrs. Kentner gathered herself. “He got a big one this fall. Dressed and butchered it by himself too. Gave half to the homeless shelter, but the freezer in the garage is still way too full. I can barely squeeze anything else in there.”

“
Thank you,” she said politely, not having the vaguest idea what to do with venison. Then again, she had Internet. There should be some recipes there. For when she was alone. No way she could put dinner on the table and tell Maddie they were eating Bambi.

Mrs. Kentner stayed to chat for a while. Dusk was falling by the time she left. Ashley washed the few dishes in the sink, trying to decide whether to tell her father tonight that she wanted to cancel the party. She didn’t want to cancel. She didn’t think there was any danger.

She looked outside as she dried the silverware. More snow had fallen overnight, coating the trees, the woods pretty enough to paint. Not enough color left in the day, but still, even as a monochromatic work, the view from her kitchen window would have made a good composition.

As she scanned the trees, something caught her eye—a patch of value difference. If she wasn’t so attuned, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it. The patch moved. A bit of russet hair came into view.

Jack.

Aggravation and something else, something she wasn’t willing to name, flashed through her in equal measure. The man didn’t know when to give up. She dragged her coat on, stepped into her boots, then walked through the front door. His car wasn’t in the driveway. Where had he come from? She had a good guess.

She strode around the house. “What are you doing back there?”

“
I was walking through the woods.” His face was drawn even more than usual, shadows all around him. He seemed to be in a dark mood, his coat open and flapping in the cold breeze. He didn’t seem to care.

“
Where’s your car?”

“
Back by the side of the road.”

She’d been right. He’d been to the grave. Unease spread through her. She wished he could see what his obsession was doing to him. She wished they’d met at another time, under vastly different circumstances.

“
How often do you go back there?”

“
Every night.”

He had good in him, at his core, that drew her to him. But he seemed inextricably mired in the past and in darkness. She didn’t want to want him. If she was going to fall for anyone, she wanted simple. She couldn’t live the rest of her life dancing on the edge of the precipice.

The cold seeped through her coat and made her shiver. She turned away from him and walked toward the house.

He followed. “I really do think Blackwell came back. Might be coming back all the time. I know I heard him last night.”

“
Did you see him?”

Silence.

“
Did you see anything?”

He didn’t respond.

A short bark of a laugh escaped her throat. “Teenagers hang out back by the creek sometimes. I told you they drive their snowmobiles all over the place. I found cigarette butts before. And empty beer bottles.”

“
It’s him.” He caught up with her and grabbed her by the arm to stop her. Turned her around. His gaze cut hard and cold. “Listen to me. This is serious. I think you know him. I think he might be watching you. What if he didn’t just come here because of the grave? What if he buried me on your land for a reason?”

For a second, fear stabbed through her, but she pushed it away. That was the old Ashley. She refused to live the rest of her life in fear. She watched his face, his gaze intent on hers. He believed, with everything he was, what he was saying. She didn’t.

Regret washed over her. “I understand that you can’t let go of Blackwell. I have my own issues in the letting-go department. But please leave me out of this.”

“
I can’t.”

“
Why?”

His cerulean eyes looked nearly black in the twilight. His gaze held hers. “Because I care.”

The quiet admission sent her for a spin.

Especially since, deep down, she cared about him too. She wished things were different, for both of them. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “How did this happen? How did we get here from anger and hate?”

His eyes gentled. “I never hated you. I was angry at you because you were supposed to be my straight line to Blackwell, but it was becoming obvious pretty fast you weren’t. And I hated myself because I was attracted to you even back when I did think that you were in league with the bastard.”

She stared at him. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“
Say that you’ll keep yourself safe until this is over.”

“
Safe from what? From imaginary trouble? You know how long I’ve been doing that? You know how hard I’ve been fighting the anxiety. I’m making progress. I’m moving forward. I’m trying not to hide from my own fears. I can’t start now to hide from yours. Don’t ask me that.”

One moment they were glaring at each other, and the next the heat was back, his gaze dipping to her lips. And, yes, part of her wanted him to kiss her again. Part of her wanted more than a kiss. Even as desire tingled across her skin, an ache grew inside her chest. Because she knew what little good it ever did to wish for impossible things.

He’d never want anyone half as much as he wanted Blackwell. So why did he have to mess with her? Why did he have to kiss her in the middle of her damn kitchen where she would now think of that kiss every time she walked in there? Why did he-

She froze.

The cold wind slammed into her, but the ice that spread in her stomach was colder.
Oh God.

Humiliation and a sense of betrayal washed over her. She scampered back. “Are you playing some kind of sick game? Did you kiss me in front of the window last night, with all the lights on, because you thought Blackwell was watching?” Her stomach turned. She was going to be sick.