Krewe of Hunters The Unseen (20 page)

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inside, but there were still lights on and people lingering at the bar.

Kelsey got out of the car quickly. “I’ll be careful,” she promised. “I’ll go right up the stairs.”

“I’ll swing by for you in the morning, to get to the studio,” he said.

She felt the greatest urge just to get back in the car. He was still shirtless in his jeans, and for the first time she wanted to forget that she was supposed to be focused elsewhere, that she was working on a truly horrible case. She wanted to forget she was strong and independent and following the course she’d chosen.

He was so damp and sleek and tempting… .

She managed to smile, and realized she was laughing at herself.

“Thanks. I’ll be ready.”

She hurried into the Longhorn. She tried not to pay attention to the stragglers as she dashed up the stairs. When she reached the balcony, she paused.

She hadn’t been thinking about people watching her, and yet she’d felt that same strange sensation along her spine, that intense stare following her all the way up.

She walked to the rail and looked over. She could see nothing but the tops of a dozen ten-gallon hats.

Turning away, she opened her door, prepared for bed and crawled in.

She started dreaming right away.

But she didn’t dream of days gone past. She dreamed of a darkened room, and the man who waited for her there, and she dreamed that he spoke her name.

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For the first time, Logan felt the extreme emptiness of his house when he returned to it.

The fire had died down low. Silence surrounded him.

He’d wanted her to stay. He couldn’t remember when he’d wanted to spend the whole night with a woman and wake up beside her.

“I really should get a dog, shouldn’t I?” he said.

Of course, no one answered.

He walked into the kitchen and began picking up the remnants of their dinner. As he rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, he thought of the way Kelsey had looked when she was in his kitchen and the way she’d looked in the shower, and then in his bed.

He groaned as he walked back into his bedroom. The sheets were still damp. The faint, ethereal scent of her co-logne or soap or maybe just the woman herself seemed to hover in the air, and it was going to make sleep difficult.

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He wanted to feel guilty. He hadn’t merely had sex. He’d had great sex.

More than that—he’d
cared.

That was why he should feel guilty.

But he didn’t feel the corrosive pain he usually did. He tried to analyze himself. He knew Alana had loved him.

She’d really loved him, the way he’d loved her.

And she would honestly want him to be happy. That was a revelation, although it shouldn’t have been.

Ah, but what was
happy?

He told himself that right now,
happy
would be discovering that he was being effectual in stopping the murders that had occurred beneath his nose.

But as he lay there, he was oddly at peace.

“I will get you, you bastard,” he said aloud.

And he would, or die trying.

But he found that he could close his eyes, and that sleep would come, and that he could allow it. Because he would start again in the morning.

Hours later he woke suddenly, and he did so with extreme dread.

Kelsey.

Her name pounded in his head. He bolted up.

Kelsey didn’t know what time it was. She didn’t know what she’d heard, but she was wide awake.

There was…something. A sound that had wakened her from a deep sleep.

She opened her eyes in the darkness but made no sud-IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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den move. She’d left her Glock on the bedside table where she could grab it in an instant.

When she did make her move, it was swift. She sat up and reached for the gun, staring into the darkness.

“I’m armed, and I’ll shoot,” she said, and she meant it.

But her only answer was the ticking of the old-fashioned alarm clock. She leaned over and switched on her light.

Shadows seemed to slide back into the walls.

There was no one there. She rose, always careful about the placement of her back, and walked quietly to the bathroom. The shower curtain was closed; she wrenched it open with her left hand. No one there, either.

Perplexed, she headed back into the room. It wasn’t so large that she couldn’t see every corner of it. Nothing stirred. She listened to the hum of the air conditioner, and wondered if it had kicked on, awakening her.

She knelt down and peered under the bed. Not even a dust bunny.

At last, she walked to the door. It was locked.

Perplexed, she went back to the bed. As she did, the phone rang.

“O’Brien,” she said, looking at the clock.

“Kelsey?” Logan. He sounded anxious.

“Logan. Hey. Do you know what time it is?” He ignored her slight sarcasm. “Six. Are you all right?

Has anything happened?”

“I’m

fine.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

“My room. 207.”

“And you’re alone.”

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“Entirely.”

“You’re

sure
you’re alone?”

“Yes. I’ve just been around the room.”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.”

Ten minutes later, there was a knock and she heard Logan’s voice again. She opened the door. He was dressed, but his hair was askew over his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him.

He came into the room. As she had previously done, he made a visual sweep of it.

“Logan, what’s wrong?” she persisted.

He paused, looking at her in confusion. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “Were you dreaming…or having a vision again? Did you see the past? Matt Meyer strangling Rose Langley or…something more contemporary?” She shook her head. She wondered if she should tell him that she’d awakened, certain that someone had been there, that she hadn’t been alone. But he seemed so worried about her that she answered carefully.

“I’m all right. I woke up just before you called, but I searched the room and…well, I was the only one here. But I wish I’d see more in this room,” she told him.

He relaxed. She smiled. “You need a hairbrush. Use mine. It’s on the dressing table.”

Sheepishly, he smoothed back his hair, then walked over to borrow her brush.

“Thank you—for being worried about me,” she said, as he shaped his hair into its customary neatness.

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He didn’t have a chance to leave. There was another pounding at Kelsey’s door, followed by Sandy’s anxious voice.

“Kelsey?”

She shrugged and hurried to the door. Sandy was staring at her with similar concern.

“Did anything happen? Are you okay? Oh, Lord! Maybe I should never have bought this place!” Sandy saw Logan, but she obviously wasn’t surprised. “Ricky opened the door when he heard Ranger Raintree knocking… . I was so afraid something had happened in here.”

“No, I’m fine. Logan just wants to make an earlier start than we’d originally intended,” Kelsey said.

“Oh.” Sandy let out a sigh of relief. “Ricky came in early this morning—he was going to help me with the garbage disposal, but I’d already fixed it.” She grinned engagingly.

“You learn a lot about simple electrical work and Band-Aid types of repairs when you own a place like this. Actually, I didn’t learn that stuff when I was doing my hotel and hospitality degree, go figure, but my dad being an electrician sure helped a lot. Anyway, to make a long story short, coffee is brewed and Ricky’s got food going, too!”

“That’d be great.” Logan turned to Kelsey. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

“You two have time for breakfast, don’t you?” Sandy asked.

“Of course we do. Thanks,” Logan replied, smiling.

Sandy f lushed. She liked Logan, apparently.

“I’ll be down as fast as I can,” Kelsey promised. “Logan, why don’t you go ahead?”

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When she entered the kitchen, he and Sandy were seated at the table. Ricky and several other employees were working around them, cooking and gathering up plates for the guests who were filtering down.

Sandy looked up, almost as if she felt guilty about something, when Kelsey walked into the room.

“Coffee,” Ricky said, handing her a cup as he hurried by. “I’ll bet you need it.”

She thanked him brief ly and sat down at the table, noticing that Sandy had the local paper.

“You’re not going to like this,” Sandy warned.

The headline read Body of Vanessa Johnston Found.

Where Are Rangers of Yore?

The byline belonged to Ted Murphy.

She glanced at Logan, but he seemed much calmer regarding Murphy than he’d been a couple of days earlier.

“What a help the little prick is to law enforcement,” Kelsey said, shaking her head as she read the article.

Murphy hadn’t written anything that wasn’t factual.

But he also knew that the FBI was involved, that she’d been brought in from Florida and that a special “task force”—including law enforcement officers who’d had some “interesting” experiences—was on the scene. He’d researched the small amount of information available on Jackson Crow and his unit, the Krewe of Hunters, and suggested San Antonio should bring in a tea-leaf reader, a medium or maybe a voodoo priestess.

“Yep, he’s a little prick,” Logan agreed.

“It’s so sad, and so scary!” Sandy said.

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man,” Logan said, dismissing the paper. “Ricky made cheese blintzes today,” he told Kelsey. “They’re excellent.”

“Sounds good,” she said.

She wasn’t really even hungry. She couldn’t believe that Logan was accepting the newspaper article so coolly. She hoped the article—which really couldn’t be missed if you saw the paper—wasn’t going to hamper their investigation.

“Yes, you have to have some blintzes,” Sandy said, starting to rise, but Ricky was already there with a plate for Kelsey.

“Sit, eat, relax, both of you. We’ve got it covered,” he told Kelsey, then Sandy.

“Thank you!” Sandy breathed, with Kelsey echoing the words.

Sandy waved a hand in the air. “He’s such a sweetheart.

Like he says, he’s got me covered. He’s worried about me because we’re trying so hard to accommodate everyone, and I’m going insane. I’ve agreed that the host of that documentary can come in here and do a few minutes at the bar. It’ll be a mess because we have so many people staying here, and I’m telling everyone that they don’t have upstairs access—except for the fire escapes—from one-thirty to three-thirty this afternoon. I’ll set up a bar in here, but it’s disruptive. I don’t know how I let them talk me into this.

Oh, wait—” she rolled her eyes “—yes, I do. They offered me big bucks. Of course, if I really piss off my guests, and they cream me on all the travel sites, it won’t be worth very much.”

“The people staying here seem to be nice,” Kelsey said.

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a trivial problem while you…” Her voice trailed off, as she gestured at the paper. “While you’re dealing with a
real
problem. Do you think the Sierra Monte case might actually be related?”

Kelsey winced inwardly. Sandy was such a good person and she worked so hard, Kelsey hated to dismiss her by saying they weren’t supposed to talk about their cases.

Logan saved her from answering. “Who knows at this point? And it’s only recently that anyone has thought this might be a serial killer.”

“Of course,” Sandy murmured, looking from one to the other. She suddenly seemed to remember her own dilemma for the day. “Kelsey, I should’ve said this earlier. If you’re going to need anything from your room—”

“Don’t worry, Sandy, I won’t interrupt the filming.” Sandy brightened. “If by any chance you guys have some spare time this afternoon, you’re more than welcome to watch. I’ve been told I can be there—nice of them, huh? I tried to tell them I could arrange far better circumstances if they’d wait until after the rodeo. But, with their budget, they have to wrap things up. I did suggest they might’ve asked me earlier, but it seems their narrator or whatever you call him came in for a beer the other night and fell in love with the place. He told the documentary people they had to do a location shoot here, not film the Longhorn scene at the studio. So… Well, it’s just for today. And bless Ricky and my other help! Like I said, we’ll keep a bar going in here, as well. Thank God they put in a big kitchen! And drinks will be on the house for our guests tonight.” IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012