“What are kalachkis?” John asked her with interest, while still frowning at Dan.
She adored a man with a sweet tooth, and hoped John had one. She loved baking and experimenting with recipes but Will hated sweets and made for a bad guinea pig. “They’re cookies, filled with either fruit preserves or cheese.”
“Don’t forget the powdered sugar,” Dan added.
“You know I wouldn’t since you’re always asking for extra.” Despite the tension and testosterone radiating from both men, she offered Dan a smile. Dan had been caring for his sick wife who suffered from some rare disease—she couldn’t remember the name except that it had more consonants than vowels—but wished she could do more than give them a free box of cookies. Especially after how she’d cared for her own mother. “They’re already boxed. Just let me run to the basement kitchen and grab them.”
When she returned with a dozen strawberry and lemon kalachkis, she rolled her eyes. Since when did her house become Grand Central Station?
“Hey,
Will,” she said.
Her brother didn’t respond. He darted his eyes between John and Dan, then raised a questioning brow at her.
“Celeste.” John turned to her. His eyes were unreadable, distant. “Looks like you’ve got a houseful. I’m going to head back to the inn.”
Nodding, she tried to keep the disappointment from her face. She didn’t want him to leave, not yet. Not without more of his kisses. Then again, maybe this was for the best. His kisses could become addictive.
She followed him off the front porch, then onto the brick pathway leading to where he’d parked his car. When they reached his rental, he stopped and turned to her. The light from the porch and solar lamps cast shadows across his face, but she still caught the desire, the raw, hot passion in his dark eyes.
“Maybe we could pick up where we left off tomorrow?” he asked, his tone husky, promising.
She hugged herself, warding off the cool, night air, and him. Although she wanted to finish what they’d started, she knew where it would lead. Another dead end. He’d leave, and she’d be stuck where she was, dreaming of more. “Sure, sounds good.”
“I, ah,” he sighed, and looked over her shoulder toward the opened door where Will and Dan stood. “I meant, we never had a chance to talk about your trance, and your other visions.”
“Right.” Stupidly disappointed, she dropped her gaze and focused on a gnome in a perpetual state of mooning someone. Of course this was business. Dan’s arrival had doused cold water on a huge mistake. While her body didn’t think kissing and maybe even sex were bad things, her mind knew better. Apparently John did, too.
He raised her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “Don’t, Celeste.” He caressed her jaw. “I
will
see you tomorrow. Sleep tight.”
She watched him climb into his car then drive away. “With you by my side, maybe,” she mumbled, then headed toward her house filled with unwanted guests.
Chapter 9
The only decent thing about the Chippewa Inn was the free cable TV, John thought as he absently flipped through the channels. Reality shows, infomercials, news programs and B movies blurred together. None of them worth settling on, none of them enough to distract his thoughts from Celeste.
That kiss still had him hard. Hungry. Edgy.
He wanted more. He wanted her moans, her soft curves filling his hands, her hard nipples against his tongue. He stroked his arousal hoping to alleviate the pressure. He wanted to strip her naked and bury himself between her firm thighs. Feel her heat, her slick desire as she screamed his name and burned with the same hunger he couldn’t seem to control. He would have, too, if Dan and her brother hadn’t shown.
Releasing a frustrated sigh, he turned off the TV, then glanced at the clock. Nearly two a.m. He needed to crash. Tomorrow would be another busy day.
Horny and restless, he tossed on his side, trying to find at least one part of the mattress that didn’t have a lump or a spring. But as he lay on the shitty bed, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing or his body from aching for her.
Damn if she hadn’t nearly made him come in his jeans like a teenager copping his first feel. Never in his life had he experienced anything hotter than kissing Celeste. As their lips had met, as their mouths had fused, he’d tasted her hunger, her raw, naked need. Her…trust.
He’d denied believing in her psychic gift, yet she trusted him. If only she knew how much that meant to him.
During his last months with the FBI, his reputation had been in shambles. Close friends and coworkers had taken the deeds of a dead woman and lost faith in him.
Yeah, trust had become a bitch of a thing.
Muttering a curse, he shifted on his side again and stared at the clock. Maybe he was reading too much into this. Maybe his body still hummed and ached with need because he hadn’t been with a woman since Renee. That’s what this had to be about, that’s what made sense. He was reacting to a beautiful woman, a trusting woman who had been as greedy and hungry as he’d been to have sex. Just like Renee.
He’d never loved her, and she hadn’t loved him. They’d been friends, partners, who shared the same job, the same day-to-day bullshit. Sex between them had been more of a way to blow off steam, because neither of them had time to find a real relationship. But he’d trusted her, and she’d betrayed that trust.
He pushed thoughts of Renee where they belonged—six feet under—because he knew deep in his bones whatever was between him and Celeste was different. Renee had manipulated him, used him. Although he didn’t know Celeste well, and he’d like to hold onto the logical assumption that his attraction to her was solely based on sex, he knew it was a lie. She wasn’t like Renee in any way, shape or form. Literally. The two were polar opposites. Renee had been hard, her body, her mind, where Celeste held a softness that had him thinking of puppies, babies and a frickin’ white picket fence.
She was unconventional. A psychic accountant and baker who had a plethora of gnomes surrounding her should have had him running in the opposite direction. Instead she had his head spinning and his body craving.
And where would it lead?
Nowhere.
He doubted she was the blasé affair type, and he wasn’t, either. But he wanted her. The touch of her lips had given him a perpetual hard-on and had made him want to claim her, protect her, keep her all to himself.
But he had no right to even consider pursuing anything with Celeste. He’d leave when his time here was finished. She needed a man who’d stick around, and he wasn’t that guy. He had a life in Chicago, his work. While Wissota Falls offered a simplicity he sort of liked...what the hell was he thinking?
Christ, one kiss and he was contemplating a relationship?
His cell phone rang, and the tension coursing through him turned to dread. At—he glanced at the clock—two-twenty in the morning, this couldn’t be good. Without checking the caller ID, he answered, hoping to God it wasn’t Celeste calling about another nightmare.
“We got him,” Roy said, his tone tired, but excited.
He sat straight up in the bed and was already reaching for his pants. “You’re sure? How?”
“The sketch. I sent it over the wire yesterday afternoon and apparently our suspect overindulged last night. State Highway Patrol picked him up on a DUI, just south of Eau Claire. After they finished booking him, one of the officers happened to see the sketch. He said it was uncanny. I guess our girl got it right, huh?”
Our girl.
“Yeah, I guess she did.” He didn’t know what to feel, pride in Celeste for the hit, regret for not fully believing in her, or disappointment that his time in Wissota Falls was nearing a fast end.
“Get dressed and I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”
“I’ll be ready.”
He cleaned up, dressed, then waited for Roy outside of his room. The moon had sunk a little lower, its strong beams filtered through the swaying tree tops. He stood with his back against the motel door and instead of thinking about the suspect being detained in Eau Claire, his thoughts focused on Celeste. Deep melancholy settled on his soul. For what could have been, for what might have been. Time to explore the rattling emotions she’d evoked. Time to ensure that what he’d experienced in less than twenty-four hours wasn’t his body playing games with his mind.
Headlights illuminated the parking lot. When Roy’s cruiser came to a stop, John pushed off the motel room door.
“Helluva wake up call,” Roy said as John settled into the passenger seat. “I had Bev whip us up some coffee.” He nodded to the two travel mugs on the center counsel. “It’s black, hope you don’t mind.”
“No, this is good, thanks. I could use some caffeine.” He reached for the mug and realized what Roy had said.
Bev made the coffee?
“Does Bev always work this late?”
“Um...no.” Roy blew on the rim of his travel mug. “I...she...oh hell.”
He held up a hand to stop him. “Enough said, Sheriff. It’s none of my business.”
Roy released a hearty chuckle. “Yeah, tell that to the rest of this town. You take a crap and everyone knows about it. That’s small town life for you.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Of course not, you grew up in Richmond, Virginia, lived in Washington DC, New York, and now you’re in Chicago. With barely a thousand residents, Wissota Falls is a far cry from the big city.”
Roy’s knowledge set him on edge. If the sheriff knew about where he’d lived, he likely knew that he was former FBI, about his reasons for leaving the Bureau and joining CORE. “Been doing your homework or did Ian tell you all of this?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Consider me inquisitive?”
“That’s what Ian said about you, and what makes you one of the best out there. Blow it off, John. We’re just bullshitting here.”
Blowing off bullshit had never been his strong suit. Considering they’d likely caught their killer, he supposed it didn’t matter what Roy knew about him, or what the sheriff’s connection was to Ian. He’d likely be back in Chicago within a day or two, and on to another case. “Okay, bullshit aside, so you and Bev are a couple that no one in town is supposed to know about, but everyone does?” So strange, yet he understood. His family was just like that. Telling one person the latest gossip, that no one was supposed to know, but they all somehow did.
Roy sighed. “To be honest, I wanted to make our relationship public—officially. I’ve asked her to marry me, to move in with me, but she’s turned me down.” He shook his head. “We’ve been together for about six years now, and I love her dearly. She had a rough go of it with her ex-husband and is a little gun shy. I’m a patient man, though. I’d wait forever for her. Yep, she’ll come around. Just wait and see.”
John didn’t think he could be so patient. If he’d found himself in the same situation he’d...Celeste came to mind. Her bright blue eyes, beautiful smile, God, the way she tangled up his insides with crazy emotions. Needing to change the subject he said, “Tell me about the suspect.”
The sheriff smiled. “What, my love life’s not interesting enough? Okay, here’s what we’ve got. The guy’s name in Garrett Winston. Like you thought, he’s a trucker. Owner/operator, has his own rig, no home address, just a post office box in Illinois.”
“So he probably lives in his cab. Was he driving his truck when they arrested him?”
“Yep, no trailer though.”
“We’ll have to find out who contracted his last job.”
“I’ll have one of my men take care of it in the morning.”
John nodded. “Good, we need that trailer. We want as much evidence as we can find to ensure a solid case against Winston. It’ll also give the prosecutor a premeditation angle.”
“He’s a sick son of a bitch keeping dead girls on ice while going off to find his next victim. Damn I wish Wisconsin still had the death penalty.”
“Eye for an eye.” John took a sip of coffee, then after setting it back in the cup holder, he asked, “What time was he picked up?”
“Midnight. I guess he was swerving all over the road. The arresting officer thought the driver might’ve been falling asleep at the wheel. He wasn’t expecting Winston to be drunk, but boy was he ever. Blew a two point four seven. He’s sleeping it off in his cell and has no idea the shit that’s about to hit the fan.” Roy twisted his mouth into a sneer. “Yeah, that SOB’s days are numbered.”
“His rig’s a potential crime scene. Please tell me no one went inside. We don’t want to screw this up on some stupid technicality.”
“Those guys aren’t a bunch of backwater asses. I know their commander. Trust me, nothing’s been touched. Winston’s truck is in the impound lot waiting for us. The forensics unit will meet us there and comb the cab.” Roy blew out a deep breath. “God, I hope they find something. I wouldn’t be surprised if Boysen runs the story, that little prick.”
“They will. I guarantee his truck is loaded with incriminating evidence, hopefully enough to lock him away for four lifetimes.”
Roy glanced at him. “So the profiler’s become the psychic now?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” The mention of the word psychic turned his thoughts back to Celeste. Was she sleeping peacefully tonight? Hopefully, curled in a ball, snuggled into her warm blankets, soft, blond curls spread out on her pillow, a few loose tendrils caressing her face.
“You know.” Roy interrupted his thoughts. “I never had the chance to talk with you about Celeste’s notes. Did you read them?”
Shit, the sheriff was right, Wissota Falls was a small town. With Dan’s unexpected visit, not to mention her brother’s, word could be out by morning.
“I read through some of them, then,” he sighed, “I went to see her.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.”
He looked out the window. “Small town?”
Loud laughter filled the squad car. “Boy, don’t I know it. Yeah, Dan filled me in, and called right after you left. She’s a special gal and we’re all concerned about her.”
“I understand, but she’s no longer needed now. We have Winston, and hopefully the evidence will take over from here.”
“I’m not as convinced.”
“Why’s that?”
“You heard what she’d said in Carl’s office. There are
two
killers.” He shrugged a shoulder and looked back to the road. “We just haven’t found the bodies.”
He’d been so wrapped up in protecting her after the reading in the ME’s office, he’d almost forgotten about that enigmatic prophesy. Okay, honestly he’d blown it off. As much as he wanted to believe in her, he still couldn’t wrap his logical brain around her prediction of more than one killer. It simply made no sense. What were they going to do, start combing the woods for more bodies based on a psychic’s hunch? Besides, what were the odds that two killers were stalking the same town?
“You seriously believe that?”
The sheriff toyed with his mustache and bobbed his head. “It’s like I told you, she’s got a gift. Yes, I believe her and already have Jesse and Lloyd doing a little checking.”
“Checking what? Do they carry crystal balls, too?” He didn’t like this. Not at all. If Winston was the killer they were looking for, it would give her what he knew she needed...closure. If they continued on this ridiculous assumption, the only thing they would accomplish was to feed into Celeste’s belief that there was another killer out there. That theory would only add to her fears, something he wanted put to rest. He liked her. A part of him was starting to care about her, and he wanted her to be able to sleep through the night, not worry about dead bodies and killers. That was his job.
“Look John, I get that you’re the type of guy who needs to see the hard, concrete evidence. But like I said, Celeste is special and I trust in her, something I’d think you would reconsider after yesterday.”
He gave him a sidelong glance. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I saw how you were with her. You were ready to rip any of our heads off if we tried to get near her.”
“I was concerned about her state of mind.”