“Let me sleep on it.”
“I think you need to understand something.” He held his ground, not wanting to leave things the way they were. She had no clue what she’d put him through and she had to understand his motives. He wasn’t trying to boss her around or throw her off the investigation. He was trying to protect her.
“Good night, John.” She ushered him to the door, then closed it in his face without an ounce of hesitation.
As he stalked to his car, he tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong. He looked around the yard and caught a few accusing glances.
“Goddamn gnomes,” he muttered to himself. What the hell did they know?
*
More loose ends.
Rage settled deep in his gut as he watched John Kain leave the psychic’s house. Had they been discussing his little Deb from the bog? He’d been so careful with his sweet Deb, gutting her enough so that her body would sink into the lake, rather than bloat and float.
Fucking cranberry farmers. They’d harvested two weeks earlier than last year. If they hadn’t, her body would have likely moved with the gentle current. It would have either ended up at one of the adjoining lakes, or traveled down to the river. If that had happened and she’d washed up on shore in another county, no one would have tried to connect the Deb to the women Garrett had dumped. And he knew they were trying to make a connection.
He crouched low, the evergreen he’d been hiding behind giving him cover as Kain backed out of the driveway, then sped down the street. Five dead bodies discovered in less than twenty-four hours. That kind of shit didn’t happen in this county, which hadn’t seen a murder in decades. The odds against two killers could likely have them furthering their investigation against Garrett.
Another loose end.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. The rage remained, but now mingled with painful shards of regret. He couldn’t, wouldn’t dispose of Garrett.
So far, Garrett had done as they’d planned if he was ever caught—he’d confessed—but his brother was arrogant, impatient, and vengeful. It would be days before he could free Garrett. Days he couldn’t afford. The risk of the sheriff and that know-it-all prick, Kain, furthering their investigation scared the shit out of him. What if they discovered what Garrett had done in Florida or Alabama before they’d made their first kill together? Wisconsin no longer carried the death penalty, but those states did. What if Garrett talked? What if he spilled what he knew about him for a lesser sentence?
Garrett had seen his safe house and the alternate identities he’d stashed there. Passports, driver’s licenses, credit cards. Garrett also knew where he planned to run once he’d tied up all of his loose ends.
With his stomach twisting, and the thought of killing Garrett leaving him hollow, he brushed the ground with his gloved hands. Once he’d made sure he hadn’t left any evidence behind, he edged away from the evergreen, then stopped short when a dog barked. Crouching low once again, he waited and listened, but his thoughts drifted.
Could he survive without seeing Garrett’s face again? Hearing his voice? The sexual release when they shared the bitches they’d killed together?
They’d raped and killed dozens of filthy whores over the past twelve years. As those memories flashed through his mind, each whore, each kill, each sexual gratification...none of them had compared to his Deb. She’d been different. Soft and demure. Sweet and sexy. Unlike the prostitutes they’d taken in the past, his Deb had been special. Clean, pretty, and so unlike the filth Garrett had brought to him. Although his Deb was the daughter of a minister, she wasn’t a virgin, which hadn’t bothered him. Her ass had been virginal enough. If only he’d had the time to fulfill his ultimate fantasy with her, she would have been the absolute perfect kill.
The more he thought about his Deb, the more he realized he could find the satisfaction he needed
without
Garrett. He’d taken his Deb alone, and the pleasure of the act had been more fulfilling than he’d ever imagined. For the first time, he had been able to walk away from a kill without remorse. While he hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt over the junkie whores they’d murdered together, he’d hated himself for the immoral, impure thoughts he’d had while fucking those pieces of trash. He’d always hated the need to look into his brother’s eyes and imagine...
He blocked the depraved thought as bile rose in his throat. He wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t allow himself to fantasize about something that could and would never, ever happen again. Stumbling back, he landed on his rear and ran a shaky hand through his hair.
Our time
was about to become a thing of the past. He no longer wanted another of Garrett’s piece
s of shit, used up whores to fuck and kill. He wanted another like his Deb. He wanted them clean, pretty. Not used, abused, hard and diseased. Damn it, he wanted to cleanse his soul of the immorality he’d been living with since that night when he’d realized his love for his brother wasn’t brotherly.
The fucking dog finally stopped its yapping. As he rose from his hiding place again, he caught the psychic drawing the blinds in her front window. Too bad her brother had shown. He needed a way to release the violence coursing through him. While he’d always known that eventually his own depravity would lead to Garrett’s death, he hadn’t been prepared for it to happen this soon. They were forcing him to take action, to react and retaliate. Garrett had become a liability that now must be dealt with, and so did Celeste.
While he didn’t necessarily believe in her psychic bullshit, a smart man always kept his bases covered. And he was smarter than the sheriff, Kain, and hell, even Garrett, combined.
He knew she’d been having visions, but he hadn’t had a chance or opportunity to read the notes she’d made for Roy. Was that why Kain was with her tonight? To discuss the murders? Or maybe he was banging the little hottie. Nope, he decided. He’d known her for years. Celeste rarely dated, and he doubted she’d spread her legs for some guy passing through on a murder investigation.
Once her blinds were closed, and the street had grown quiet, he checked his hiding spot for evidence again, then made his move. He’d parked his pick-up three streets north behind an abandoned mechanic’s garage. As he jogged, he couldn’t stop thinking about Celeste. What if her psychic shit was for real? What if she knew about the others he and Garrett had killed?
He relaxed into a slow, steady jog. If those women were discovered, they’d pin those victims on Garrett. The MO had been the same. Raped and strangled. Still, what if she gave them information that could somehow lead to him?
Another loose end.
A loose end he would enjoy killing.
He cracked a smile. Killing Celeste would not only fuck up everyone who loved her, but everyone who had taken Garrett, his forbidden love, away from him.
Fuck. So many loose ends.
Killing Garrett would hurt. He was his brother, his partner. Although with his death came resurrection. A purification of a sort from the immorality Garrett had driven him to with his husky voice and sensual smile. But Celeste?
His pulse raced. On many levels she reminded him of his Deb. Sweet and innocent, Celeste was a pretty woman. He’d enjoy silencing her and taking her out of the investigation. Hell, maybe he’d use
her
to fulfill the fantasy he hadn’t been able to complete with his Deb. Ramming his hunting knife into her gut, slicing the blade up to those perky tits she was always showing off in her tight t-shirts, while he fucked her curvy ass.
By the time he reached his truck, his dick had grown painfully hard just thinking about what he could do to Celeste. Yet as much as he’d love to fulfill that fantasy, he had a few other things to take care of first.
Garrett ranked at the top of that list.
“Good morning,” John said to Bev as he entered the Sheriff’s Department. He’d tried for a chipper tone, but with his current mood, the words fell flat.
“Mornin’. Roy’s expecting you if you want to head back.”
After thanking her, he moved out of the reception area, then into the corridor that would lead to the sheriff’s office. As he approached, he slowed his steps. Male voices, spiked with anger drifted down the hallway. Realizing Roy wasn’t alone, he hovered just outside the opened office door. Lloyd, Jesse, and Dan all had their backs to the door. The deputies surrounded the sheriff like a pack of wolves.
“C’mon, Roy. This is a bunch of bullshit,” the Viking bitched, and slammed his hand on the desk. “We don’t need outside help, at least not from him.”
“I agree with Lloyd,” Jesse said. “Five dead bodies? We need DCI or FBI, not some private investigator from...where’s he from anyway?”
“Does he even have experience?” Dan asked.
John leaned against the door frame, wondering why he’d bothered to leave his lumpy motel bed. Last night had sucked. His argument with Celeste, after her god-awful trance, had kept him up most of the night.
This morning hadn’t been any better. He’d tried contacting Ian again, but his call had rolled straight into voice mail. After leaving a message that had bordered on insubordinate, he’d huffed out of his room in search of caffeine. Unfortunately, all he’d found waiting for him at the Chippewa Inn’s front foyer was a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee grounds and thick sludge.
Now, he had to deal with the sheriff’s deputies and their bullshit. Considering he already had a pissed off psychic, five dead bodies, and not just one, but probably two serial killers to contend with, they were the least of his concerns. Still, if he was going to make any headway with this investigation, he’d need Roy’s men on his side.
The sheriff chose that moment to make eye contact with him. His mustache twitched above a sly smile as he shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
All three men turned and stared at him. Lloyd snarled, then turned his back and moved to the window, while Jesse and Dan looked away and hung their heads.
“Morning, Roy,” John said. “Apparently I’m a hot topic today.”
“Apparently,” the sheriff said, amusement lacing his tone.
He rubbed his jaw. “Okay, you three want to know a little about me? Fire away.”
Silence.
With a shrug, he dropped into one of the office chairs. “CORE, the company I work for, isn’t just your average private investigative agency. Our resources are immeasurable, and our agents are fully trained with backgrounds that would blow you away.” Sighing, he shifted in his chair wishing for a decent cup of coffee to help him deal with the overwhelmingly negative testosterone emanating in the room.
“To answer your questions, CORE is based in Chicago, and I’m former FBI.” He leaned forward now that each deputy had their eyes on him. “And yes, I’ve dealt with these types of crimes. Actually, this isn’t the worst I’ve seen.”
Dan shook his head. “Really? Former FBI?”
Jesse released a low whistle. “What was your specialty?”
“My specialty?” He raised his shoulder. “Finding the bad guys.”
“Finding the bad guys,” the Viking echoed, sarcasm dripping with each word. “I worked with a few FBI agents out of the field office in Minneapolis.” He turned to Roy. “Remember that meth case?”
The sheriff nodded, but said nothing.
“You don’t talk like FBI,” Lloyd continued, “don’t use their terms, don’t—”
“Because I’m not FBI anymore,” he interrupted, then looked to the sheriff. “Are we done here? There’s some things I’d like to discuss...privately.”
“Personally I’m done with this bullshit conversation. How ‘bout it, boys? Did John answer your questions?” When no one responded, Roy leaned back in his chair. “Good. You have your assignments for today. Head on out.”
“Wait,” Lloyd blurted. “What about Celeste?”
“What about her?” Roy asked.
With an exasperated sigh, the Viking rounded the desk. “She could be in danger. I doubt Winston killed the woman in the bog. The MO doesn’t fit and everyone in town knows she’s a psychic. Have you thought about that? About the fact that the guy who sliced up that girl could go after Celeste thinking she knows something?” Lloyd asked, his steely gaze now focused on him.
“Yeah, we’ve considered that,” John responded, reluctantly impressed with Lloyd’s take on the crimes.
“Really? And what do you plan to do about it?” He turned to Roy. “Look, I know we don’t have the manpower to give her round the clock protection, but I talked the situation over with Will and—”
“I’ll worry about Celeste,” John said, trying to keep the growl out of his tone. There was no way in hell he’d let that fucking Neanderthal stay at Celeste’s house. As far as he was concerned, she was his to protect. After some groveling, he’d make her understand why he’d reacted the way he had last night, then make her his in every way possible.
Logic be damned. He wanted her. And every crazy, scary and warm emotion she’d evoked.
“I heard about how well you were worrying about her.” Thumbing toward him, Lloyd turned to the sheriff. “Celeste kicked Kain’s ass to the curb last night, then ran to the basement crying.”
Crying? Shit. Once again he wished he’d handled last night differently.
He met Roy’s gaze. Instead of anger, the sheriff’s eyes revealed a combination of curiosity and understanding.
“I think that’s about enough, Lloyd. Like I said, you boys have your assignments for the day, get on out of here. And keep in mind, John’s here to help. If I find out any of you are interfering with this investigation hoping to get rid of him, I’ll come down on your asses. Are we clear?”
All three deputies nodded as they left. Of course the Viking had his final say by slamming the office door shut hard enough the walls rattled, skewing a few of the paintings and county maps.
“That was
exactly
what I needed this morning.” John leaned into the chair. “So, I guess you’ll want to know why Celeste was crying last night.”
Roy raised a bushy eyebrow. “You guessed right.”
John shoved out of the chair, then moved to the wall and straightened one of the pictures. “After I left the bog, I went to see her.” He’d needed to after witnessing her vision come to life. He’d wanted news of the girl’s death to come from him. To not only offer her comfort if she’d needed it, but to prove that he trusted her as a partner. “I...there’s something I haven’t told you. Celeste has graduated from her nightly visions to...trances.”
“Trances? What the hell are you talking about?”
He finished straightening another painting, then lean against the wall. “When you found us parked on the side of the road, on the way to the original dump site, I’d pulled off because she’d gone into a trance. I should have told you about this right after it had happened, but Celeste had asked me not to. She’s worried about putting more stress on you, and quite frankly, I...hell.” He crossed his arms and rested the back of his head against the wall.
“You didn’t believe her.”
“Bingo,” he said, with a rueful half-smile and shrugged.
“What was the trance about?”
Taking a seat, he explained what had happened in the car, how her trance had correlated with not only her notes, but the girl they’d found in the bog. Roy stayed silent, thoughtfully stroking his mustache.
“I’ve never known her to go into a trance before,” the sheriff said. “Her mom? Well, never mind, that’s not important. What happened last night?”
“Wait, her mom used to have trances, too? This is good.” He nodded. “Did her mom remember anything after she woke? Was she able to control when the trances occurred? Better yet, if she were asked the right questions—”
“John, I’m sorry, but I don’t have any answers for you.”
“But from what I understand, you were close with Celeste’s family.”
“Her mom is gone, along with any knowledge about how the trances affected her. Now, let’s move on, tell me about last night.”
“What about her husband? Wouldn’t he know?”
“Let it go,” Roy said quietly, while his face reddened with irritation.
Not needing another enemy this morning, he decided to let it go—for now. “I filled her in on Winston and the girl from the bog. Then she insisted on trying to go into another trance.”
Rubbing his temple, Roy asked, “For the second victim from her visions?”
He nodded. “I tried talking her out of it. I wanted you and a doctor present, but—”
“She’s not only hard-headed, but she’s insecure about her psychic stuff, I get it.” Roy sighed. “What happened?”
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and set it on the desk. “Hear for yourself.”
Ten minutes later, and Roy a few shades whiter, John pocketed his phone. “Celeste doesn’t remember anything from either trance, and I refused to not only let her listen to the recording, but even tell her what she’d said or done. I wanted time to think, to talk to you. But she, as Lloyd put it, kicked my ass to the curb before I could explain.”
After scrubbing a hand over his face, Roy looked away. “That’s some pretty powerful stuff. Hearing it’s one thing, but seeing it? I’d have done the same thing. But you also have to understand Celeste. She’s not only a fixer, but likes to be in control. She can’t necessarily control her visions, but she can at least remember them. You said she has no memory from the trances? Well, that’s going to bring the control freak right out of her.”
“It probably didn’t help that I’d basically ordered her off the investigation.”
With a chuckle, the sheriff shook his head. “No, that’s a woman you don’t tell what to do.”
“No shit.”
“No shit,” he echoed, then smacked his hand on the desk. “Can you replay her trance for me?”
Reluctantly, he set the phone back on the desk and replayed her trace. He’d listened to it several times last night, and again this morning, after he’d tossed the cup of shitty coffee down the bathroom sink. Each time he heard Celeste’s tormented voice, something broke inside of him.
When the recording ended, Roy rose from his chair and went to the county map hanging on the wall. “Do you realize the leads she’s given us?”
“If the man with the beard is Winston, she’s confirmed that he wasn’t working alone,” John said. “I also believe this victim was not only raped, but sodomized. I’m anxious for the autopsy report from Carl. If the girl from the bog was anally raped...” He let his words trail. Celeste’s visions and trances might not hold up in court, but they would give them leads, along with a deeper insight into the second killer.
Still squinting at the map, Roy said, “Carl had finished the final Jane Doe from the first dump site last night and is currently working on the girl from the bog. He said he should have a full report by early afternoon.”
“What do you make of the mill Celeste mentioned?”
“That’s what I’m looking for and...here.” He jabbed his finger to a city on the map and smiled. “Tilden.”
He rose and moved next to the sheriff. “Tilden?”
“There’s a sheet metal factory there, the only one of its kind around these parts. I’m betting she was describing it. Lloyd’s going to be heading that way, so I’ll have him stop and check around the mill.”
Although he hated the idea of using the Viking for anything considering he was becoming a pain in his ass, he had to admit that Lloyd seemed like a decent cop. “Sounds good, but this is even better.” He skimmed a finger along highway fifty three, which ran through Tilden. “This is one of the routes Winston took when he worked for Booker Foods.”
Roy pulled on his mustache. “Booker Foods?”
“Sorry, I just found out about it this morning. After I left the bog yesterday, I called one of our people at CORE, Rachel, on my way to Celeste’s.”
Rachel Davis, a former Army Intelligence Officer, and forensic computer scientist, had become an asset to CORE since she’d joined four years ago. She had a knack for finding things no one wanted found and had been a tremendous help on many investigations.
“I wanted Rachel to dig around and look into the companies Winston had been contracted with, starting with the most recent. If he hadn’t been picked up on the DUI, he’d be heading for the West Coast as we speak.”
John went back to the map. “Winston’s last contract was with Booker Foods. They were gracious enough to give us his route and said your CSU team could examine the trailer. Unfortunately, that trailer is currently heading to Minnesota. CORE, with the cooperation of Booker Foods, is going to have it detained once it reaches St. Cloud and their local CSU will examine it.”
“Ian’s connections will never cease to amaze me,” Roy said, his tone filled with amusement and admiration. “But we have an issue I don’t like. Booker Foods is a vendor Celeste uses for the diner.”
He moved his finger along Winston’s route, then stopped when he reached Wissota Falls. The hairs at the back of his neck rose. “Then Winston had been in contact with Celeste. He and whoever he could be working with would know about her. Maybe her schedule, her—”