She placed his soup in front of him, then kept herself busy. Fluttering from one customer to another, she moved on auto-pilot, the stranger never far from her thoughts, his touch still humming through her body.
She couldn’t wait for him to finish his meal and leave. She didn’t want to deal with his distracting aura, his hypnotic eyes or the desire he’d awoken. His touch had left a small imprint on her, had her longing for intimacy, affection...sex, had her facing a feeling she’d denied for years. Loneliness. The need to run from the responsibilities that had been dumped on her was stronger than ever, leaving her longing for the freedom to live her life, her dreams.
The bell at the front door chimed. She looked up from her notepad. The sun haloed the stranger’s body. He paused, looked over his shoulder and met her gaze, then with a curt nod he left. She closed her notepad, and instead of going to the kitchen to check on the food she’d been waiting for, she went to the end of the counter where he’d sat.
A twenty dollar bill sat on top of his nine dollar and twenty eight cent check. Although pleased with the tip, a part of her wished for a business card. Stupid. She shook her head and gathered his money. Would she have called him anyway? Nope. She wouldn’t have had the nerve, and besides, she didn’t do one-night-stands. Instead of allowing ridiculous disappointment to fester, she looked at his departure logically.
The good news, she ticked off in her head, he wasn’t local, just a stranger, probably a traveling businessman stopping in for lunch. The bad news, she would never seem him again.
Damn. That was
supposed
to be the good news.
Chapter 4
What the hell was that all about?
John burst from the diner, dragging in a deep breath. The unusually balmy late September air only intensified the unexpected sensual heat pumping through his veins.
All he’d wanted was a freaking cup of soup. Instead, he’d ended up with a full-blown erection. He stood on the sidewalk, clenching and unclenching his fist. A strange pins and needles sensation still tingled through the hand he’d used to touch the sexy waitress. Touching her had dazed him with needs he’d never experienced. Lust. Primal, animalistic and possessive. His dick began to harden again as he relived the rush of arousing sensations she’d evoked, then his chest tightened as heartburn set in, which he deserved. He’d shoveled his sandwich into his mouth too fast in an effort to leave the diner and the waitress behind as quickly as possible. He didn’t mix business with pleasure, not anymore.
Without another glance at the diner, and knowing he still had some time to kill before meeting Roy, he set off in search of a store that sold antacids. A couple dozen short, brick buildings lined the entire town square, twelve foot lamp posts stood at attention every thirty feet giving off an antiquated air. Some shops had awnings, others boasted the American flag. Each had their business name centered above their store. Nothing flashy. No bright lights or gimmicks to draw the customer in, just good old-fashioned hometown simplicity.
A peaceful setting, and from what he’d read about Wissota Falls on the flight over, a tight knit community, very family oriented, with low crime and a good school system. Unfortunately the four dead women found this morning would put a huge blemish on the town’s image. The thought of the bodies he’d stared at only an hour ago had indigestion weaving its way into his chest, and his feet moving to find those antacids.
The R & P Grocery had what he needed. He popped a few antacids into his mouth, then headed for his car, his mind still on the waitress from the diner, and his body still throbbing with the need to have her.
“Ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself as he climbed into his rental and turned the key in the ignition. He just hadn’t had sex since...Renee.
He hardened his jaw. He’d thought he’d buried his memories of her, of her betrayal, the day she’d been buried six feet under. Since he’d worked with the Chicago FBI Field Office on the serial pedophile/murder case, he hadn’t been able to ignore those memories. Although he’d been exonerated from anything having to do with Renee and her death, agents he’d known for years, had worked with, trained with, had still looked at him as if he’d been the one to pull the trigger. If they only knew the truth.
He drove into the Sheriff’s Department parking lot the same time Roy did. As he climbed out of his rental, he nodded to the sheriff.
“I’m glad you’re early,” Roy said as he led him through the double-wide doors into the building. “I got a call from the ME right after my meeting with the mayor.” He turned his attention to the receptionist. “Bev, did you get a fax from Carl?”
She gave him several papers. “Just a few minutes ago.”
“Here are those copies you asked for.” Jesse Peterson came out of a back office and handed them to Bev, who in turn handed them to the sheriff.
“The originals?” Roy asked.
“On the bottom,” she said, her worried gaze trained on the sheriff. “Did you remember to take your blood pressure medication?”
He released a deep sigh. “I...no.”
“Thought so, here.” She plucked a pill bottle from her desk drawer and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He nodded to Bev, then motioned for John to follow him. When they reached the sheriff’s office, Roy popped the pill Bev had given him and dry swallowed. “Don’t get old,” he said, taking a seat.
John hid a smile as he took in the sheriff’s office. Paul Bunyan liked color and a cozy atmosphere, and apparently art. Several paintings hung between large maps of Chippewa County and the state of Wisconsin, standing out against the yellow walls. One painting of the town square and the other...well, it was a chaotic display of colors, sort of abstract, he supposed—not that he knew anything about art. But he did know something beautiful when he saw it, and damn if that waitress didn’t pop into his head.
“Okay.” Roy drew his attention away from the paintings and thoughts of the woman who served an excellent sandwich. “Carl Saunders is the ME working on the victims. Dean Atwell, his assistant, ran all four of our victims’ prints through AFIS and we got a hit on two of them. Ruby Styles and Colleen Kelpick both have records for prostitution in Indiana and both had been known to work at truck stops, which might confirm your trucker theory.”
Roy continued to scan the fax, then his green eyes lit up with excitement. “And apparently our guy wasn’t as thorough as he thought. Dean found a broken necklace with a heart-shaped charm tangled in Ruby Styles’s hair. Oh this is good. Real good.”
He frowned not understanding what good the necklace would do them. They already had an ID on the woman, but if Atwell had found the necklace on one of the other two Jane Does, it might have helped link them to someone who knew them, and maybe been able to help give them an ID. “He washed the bodies, and didn’t leave a stitch of any of the victims’ clothes behind. I’d say he was not only thorough, but that he knew what he was doing, and probably has done this before.”
Roy looked up from the fax, the earlier excitement fading from his eyes. “I can’t believe...I should have paid better attention. Those women were in bad shape, there should have been blood on their faces, on their...” He cleared his throat, his face paling, the lines of worry and anxiety deepening around his eyes. “I should have paid better attention.”
“How many murders do you get around here?” John asked, softening his tone. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. What you saw today, most law enforcement officers will never see in their lifetime. Now, back to Ruby Styles and Colleen Kelpick, if we can pinpoint their last whereabouts, it might help us link them to this guy.” Adding now might be the time to ask for DCI’s assistance was at the tip of his tongue, but Ian had expressed, vehemently, that he’d wanted no outside help. Again, why?
“I’ll have Bev pull both victims’ arrest reports and make calls to the local PD. I’ll get Indiana State Highway Patrol involved, too. I know a few guys from way back when.” The color in the sheriff’s face had returned to normal as he jotted notes on a pad of paper. “Do you think the other two vics are prostitutes, too?”
“Probable, based on Styles and Kelpick. The Jane Does appeared younger, though. Maybe they just hadn’t been on the job long enough to get busted.”
“But you think our killer has been.”
“On the job? Oh yeah. Let’s go back to his dump site. I want to do another walk through while the ME does the autopsies.” Let his mind go to work, momentarily become the killer.
Roy looked at his watch. “I’m waiting on a third party.”
“The deputy who’d found the body? Did he remember something else?”
“No, not Ed.” The sheriff released a sigh. “Now, don’t get all shitty with me, but I’m close friends with a psychic—”
John laughed as he started to rise. “Sorry, Sheriff, I don’t do psychics. I’ll head to the dump site alone.”
“Ian said you’d give me full cooperation,” Roy reminded him, “and, well, here’s the thing.” He paused. “Would you please sit back down?”
He did, although reluctantly, while wondering if Ian had any idea about Roy and his personal psychic hotline.
“She—”
“Your
psychic?
” He released an impatient sigh, wishing he were on that golf trip to Scottsdale right now, even though he couldn’t play the game worth shit. He didn’t want to deal with a psychic, he wanted hard evidence.
“Over the past week, she’s had visions of four murders, and I asked her to meet with us. I want her to tag along to the dump site, and see if she gets...I dunno what you call it.”
“A reading?” Oh, this was just too much. What the hell was Ian’s connection to the sheriff that he’d made him promise to follow along with
whatever
Roy wanted during this case? Psychics. They were a load of shit. If they could predict the freaking future then every last one of them would have hit the lotto and been living like kings.
“See, now you’re getting shitty with me on this.”
“I
am
getting shitty. I don’t want to waste valuable time on a bunch of BS that...” He stopped mid-sentence. The aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted through the room. The air around him seemed to charge with an electrical current. His skin prickled with a strange, sensual excitement, setting him on edge and once again reminding him how long it had been since he’d given into his baser needs. His cravings.
He caught the sheriff’s line of vision and swiveled in his chair.
Her.
The waitress from the diner stood in the doorway with her hip propped to the side. Her faded jeans riding low on her curvy hips, and wearing a tight pink t-shirt with the words “Got Sugar?” emblazoned across her full breasts. She smiled at the sheriff, a big, broad, dimpled smile. Dark blond curly hair fell just below her ears. It looked downy, silky and sexy. His fingers tingled to touch it, to feel the softness run though his hands.
Her smile faded when her blue eyes met his. “Hey. Sorry I’m a little late. We were busy today and I had a few things to wrap up before I could leave.”
She kept her gaze on him as she spoke to the sheriff. John swore the room vibrated with her electricity, licked at his skin, touched him in a way he had no words to describe.
“Not a problem. Come on in. Are those cookies in that bag?”
She pulled out a Styrofoam container. “Plus the meatloaf sandwich you’d asked for,” she said with another dimpled grin. Dimples he’d like to run his tongue along just before he kissed her.
“Thanks, I’ll save it for dinner.” Roy took the container, then nodded to him. “This is John Kain. John, Celeste Risinski. She runs The Sugar Shack, is the best baker in three counties, and the psychic I was telling you about.”
As Roy turned his back to stow the sandwich into a mini refrigerator next to his desk, the psychic offered her hand. He looked at it, then to her face. Her eyes snared his. Challenging him.
The sexy blonde had him in knots. With reluctance, he shook her hand, then was both relieved and disappointed when he didn’t experience another sensual jolt like he’d had at the diner. Still, he felt a deep connection. Sexual urges that he’d never experienced before, that were, even now, causing his dick to harden again. But those urges needed to remain dormant, especially if Roy planned on partnering her with him. He couldn’t allow himself to become involved with a partner. Renee’s image flashed in his head. Been there, done that.
“I had lunch at the diner,” he said to Roy’s back, as he released Celeste’s hand, even as the urge to keep touching her ran strong. Damn it. What was wrong with him? He had a case to conduct, not the time to fool around with one of the locals, especially a psychic who’d sent his libido into overdrive .
Celeste rocked on her heels, and shoved her hands into her back pockets. Since he’d walked out of the diner, she hadn’t been able to push him or the longings he’d awakened from her mind. While she hadn’t had another sensual vision when they’d touched, she had felt a connection. Something deep, and disconcerting. Something that made zero sense. Something she needed to pretend didn’t exist.
Over the years, she’d become very good at pretending things didn’t affect her. Her best friend Mary, a career student, who’d taken courses from art history to psychology and everything in between, called her aptitude for purposeful forgetfulness a defense mechanism. Mary
was probably right, even if she didn’t have a psychology degree.
Keeping her mind clear of upsetting or unexplainable emotions and thoughts had kept her sane.
“Good food, huh?” Roy took a seat. “Ain’t nothing like The Sugar Shack for miles.”
She couldn’t help the genuine grin. “I swear. You’re a walking advertisement. I should double your freebies.” Her smile fell when she caught a glimpse of her handwriting scribbled on top of a stack of papers in front of him. “Are those...” She swallowed hard as the anxiety that had been with her for four days made her knees weaken.
“Yeah, honey, these are your notes. Take a seat. I think you’ll need to.”
She sat, dread gripping her. She’d only seen Roy this serious and disturbed once, and that had been when her mother died. Like then, the laugh lines that normally crinkled around his eyes seemed deeper, more somber. “You found the women,” she whispered, and gripped the edge of the chair.
He gave her a solemn nod. “We did. John is here to help with the investigation.”
“FBI?” she asked, running a shaky hand along her forehead.
“No, ma’am. I’m with CORE, a private agency which specializes in all types of criminal investigations.”
Her mind was too muddled with the fact her visions were real to care who Kain worked for. Right now, her head was full of the memories of her nightmares. Brief glimpses of women during their final moments, before a cord had been wrapped around their necks and the life squeezed out of them.