Unforgivable (Romantic Suspense) Read online

  He walked back down to his vehicle and searched it. No signs of a struggle or that two girls had been inside. It was only a small relief. He’d probably just missed whoever had thrown that shoe there.

  Could you handle knowing the killer is you?

  He tried to shake those words out of his head. He was the best prime suspect, according to his own evidence. He’d been in the area when the girls had been taken, drawn there by an irresistible force that rendered him unconscious. He’d seen the victims. Though he hadn’t found every shoe, he’d found a few of them. The last two times he’d woken up shortly after the shoe had been left there. If he were a cop, he’d arrest himself.

  There hadn’t been the conspicuous patrol vehicle parked on the road near his driveway when he’d left. Soon he’d found out why—Gary had been called away on a domestic disturbance call. Harold hadn’t been home, either.

  Would you turn yourself in? that insidious voice asked.

  Of course he would. Or he’d drive north to the Smoky Mountains and sail off a cliff.

  Did Dr. Hyde remember what Mr. Jekyll had done? He climbed into his vehicle and started it. It took some maneuvering, but he finally got back on the road. He drove until he found a highway marker, then pulled out a map to find out where the hell he was.

  He narrowed it down to Juliette. Miles away from Flatlands, and he remembered nothing of the drive. Something else: Anne Clasp had disappeared from Juliette a year ago.

  He ignored his throbbing arm and searched for the hidden road he’d gotten a glimpse of. The night revealed none of its secrets, nor did his mind. He’d have to return during the day to search.

  The first thing he did was check on Katie. It was late, and he figured she’d be asleep. He didn’t want to talk to her, just make sure she was all right. He cut his lights halfway down her drive, left the engine running, and walked the rest of the way. Her bedroom light was on, as well as the front porch light. He felt a step closer to that evil being as he walked around the side and looked in the bedroom window. The blinds were closed, of course, but he could see through the tiny holes. Her leg jiggled nervously. He saw a corner of a book, and the tip of her finger. Relief flooded him; she was all right.

  He owed her an explanation, and she would darn well hold him to it. That feisty little girl he’d known wasn’t far beneath the surface. Although he was glad, he didn’t much like when she used her feistiness on him. Now wasn’t the time to tell her anything, not shirtless and bleeding.

  Bone tired, he dragged himself to his vehicle. As soon as he got home, he let The Boss out and unwound his shirt from his arm. Dots of blood oozed from a fine cut down the outside of his arm. Using his good arm, he opened the first aid kit and doused the cut with peroxide. Then he put on antibiotic and wrapped gauze around it.

  He had no memory of getting that cut, no idea how it happened. Worse than the sting of the peroxide was the fact that it added yet another arrow of guilt pointed right at him.

  Later he settled onto his air mattress, The Boss lying at his side. He gently rested his injured arm on the dog’s back and moved his fingers over his course hair. The dog barely lifted his head. He searched his mind for anything that would be the key to finding where the girls were hidden. Somewhere in this area, but that included hundreds of acres of remote forestland. He’d look tomorrow as soon as he escorted Katie and Harold to work.

  Katie.

  It felt as though someone had dropped an anvil on his chest. He shot to his feet. Katie had flowed into that miasma of images and thoughts, of terror and pleasure. The Ghost had wondered if Katie would forgive him. And he’d pictured Katie on that bed instead of the girls.

  That kept him up the rest of the night.

  Grover Thompson hauled a bucket of leftovers from Thelma’s canning out to the pig stalls. That woman’s insomnia was going to drive him crazy. Here it was four in the morning and no breakfast even started. The place smelled like peaches and blackberries, and not a stitch of food for himself. She’d sent him out with the peelings and a promise to start breakfast.

  Thump. Thump.

  He heard the strange sound first, and then the commotion in the pig stalls. Not loud, but enough to indicate they were excited about something. The pigs used one of his old barns once the cows got moved into larger quarters. An opening led out to the troughs and mud pit. All the pigs were gathered around that opening eating something in the troughs.

  He opened the gate. It creaked, reminding him for the umpteenth time to bring out the WD-40. What the heck were they eating at this time of morning? They were crunching and slurping as though they hadn’t eaten in days. He flipped on the light, which didn’t phase the pigs one bit.

  He trudged through the muddy ground to check it out. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the shadows. By the time he turned around, the pen was doused in darkness again. He dropped the bucket and wished he were younger, stronger. The pigs were making such a ruckus, he couldn’t hear if someone was approaching.

  The pain was so sharp, he thought he’d imagined it at first. He felt it knife into his back and twist inside him. He couldn’t even call out; the pain had sucked the air from his lungs. As he dropped to his knees in the muck, he saw the shadowy figure standing behind him. The mud was warm from the day’s heat, warm and comforting as he rolled onto his side. Above him was the person who had done this to him for no reason. He saw the figure raise his arms, and then it was all over.

  CHAPTER 13

  Katie spent the night in groggy wakefulness. She waited for Silas to return and explain his strange behavior. How could he announce that the killer was on the prowl and just take off?

  She set the book down on the bed. Silas was spooky. Now she knew why the kids had been so freaked out. She felt the same way. Worse, she felt violated. It was one thing Ben always wanting to know what she was thinking. It was a totally different matter to have someone know your feelings without your permission.

  She pulled out the sketch from beneath her mama’s picture on her nightstand. He’d been there with her, that was the only explanation. She put her hand to her chest. Not with her, but inside her. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense in a…well, a spooky kind of way. She’d always trusted Silas, even though everyone else clearly feared him. And he had been around during the most tense and scary moments of her life, in one way or another. She glanced at her mama’s smiling face. Even then, when Silas had been in custody of the county social services, she’d felt him beside her.

  What had he been doing at their trailer after her mama’s death?

  She tried to read some more, but she had the eeriest feeling someone was watching her. The bedroom door was closed, and her blinds were shut. No one could see in, but the feeling persisted. She’d felt this disorientating feeling before, of not trusting her world anymore, of not knowing herself, either. After her mama died. One day everything was fine, and the next, her world had shattered. Someone said it was a horrible way to take your life. Later she’d understand what that meant. For years she went through the sequence of events in her mind, her mama pulling out the Blue Devil, contemplating. Then opening the top and readying herself…pouring it down her throat.

  She had talked to the doctor who was also the medical examiner in Flatlands. He’d been delicate in explaining it to her, as delicate as he could be. Lye, the main ingredient in the drain opener, burned on contact. It tore through her esophagus and compromised her airway. She died from asphyxiation. What he didn’t say was how desperate she must have been to use such a painful method.

  More haunting than the image of her mother contemplating that painful end to her life was wondering if she’d felt this same disorientation and despair. Katie thought she’d gotten used to the idea of being trapped and of hating herself for being so unhappy with a wonderful man. Then Silas had come along and turned everything topsy-turvy. Spooky Silas who probably knew everything she’d been feeling about him.

  She threw the book across the ro
om, then went still. She’d heard another sound. Scratching. Her heart again jumped into her throat as she picked up the gun and opened the bedroom door. The house was dark except for the slice of light coming from the bedroom. She doused the light and walked back to the kitchen. She heard the scratching again, right outside the window. When she turned on the outside lights, it stopped.

  She left the lights on and returned to bed, huddling into a ball again. Silas had wondered where the little girl he’d once known had gone. She felt like that girl again. Not the feisty one, but the one who was scared and all alone.

  Katie climbed into Harold’s truck the next morning, grateful it was the last time she’d have to do it for a while. Dammit, she was talking to Ben about getting another car.

  Harold took one look at her, holding her coffee to her chest as she drank, and said, “You look like hell. Was you out looking for the girls last night, too?”

  Her heart dropped about three inches. “What girls?”

  “Geraldine Thorpe and Dana Westbury.” He put the truck in gear and headed toward the road. “Shame about them, ain’t it?”

  “They’re…gone? Like the others?” Her voice sounded raspy enough to get his attention.

  “Look like you seen a ghost or something.” He pulled onto the road. “Yep, gone like the others. Morton called the sheriff last night, said Geraldine didn’t come home after work. One of her brothers saw the two of ‘em walking away from the diner. He offered them a ride, but they said they had girl things to discuss. That was the last anybody saw of them. Except whoever took them, of course.”

  Harold wasn’t looking at her like he usually did. He was concentrating on the road, or deep in his thoughts. He looked as ragged as she did. She could hardly breathe as Silas’s urgent words floated through her mind: He’s on the prowl again.

  “People…” She cleared the tightness from her throat. “People were looking for them?”

  “Bunch of us went driving all over. There wasn’t hide nor hair of ‘em. We’ll be looking again all day, I’m sure. Maybe we’ll find ‘em now that it’s light out.”

  “Just like Carrie Druthers,” she said, more to herself.

  “And a girl in Juliette last year. She’d been sneaking off to meet her boyfriend and disappeared. The boyfriend said he never saw her, but the police figured it was him. Now, they’re wondering. The more we talked about it, the more girls we remembered hearing about going missing. People are talking about a serial killer loose in this area.” He glanced over at her. “That’s some excitement, huh? A real, honest-to-goodness serial killer right here in Flatlands.”

  “Why do you think he’s here in Flatlands?”

  “Tate has a map of all the disappearances. They’re all around here. He thinks this is his home base.”

  Why was Tate involving someone like Harold in the investigation?

  Katie tried not to notice the tic, but it pulsed as he lifted his eyebrows and said, “I’ll bet it’s someone we know. Maybe someone we pass a friendly comment to once in a while. Do you pass a friendly comment with anyone, Katie?”

  She couldn’t even answer that question, not with the gleam of interest in his eyes. She turned around and saw Silas’s Navigator following a short distance behind. He’d damn well better stop and talk to her after Harold dropped her off. That’s when she noticed the blood on his shirt.

  “Is that…blood?”

  There was a faded patch of red on his plaid shirt. He glanced down. “Oh, yeah, I cut my hand a few months back.” He imitated the gesture that may have put the blood there, pressing his hand to his stomach. “Cut it deep, too, and there wasn’t anyone around to kiss it and make it better. Imagine that.”

  It was easy to imagine, but she wasn’t commenting.

  “Remember, I’m right on the other side of the cemetery if you need me,” he said when she climbed down from his truck. “You just holler if you need me.” He pulled out of the gravel parking lot.

  She was too busy watching Silas’s vehicle drive slowly past. His face was indiscernible. The side of the Navigator was scratched. This she noticed as it drove past and disappeared. That’s when she remembered that piece of paper with his beeper number on it.

  As soon as she checked on the dog, she beeped Silas with a 911. He called within a minute.

  “Come back here and tell me what’s going on, Silas Koole.”

  “You’re all right?”

  “No, I’m not all right. I’m confused and worried and…hell, you ought to know just how I feel!” The curse word took her back.

  His voice was low when he said, “Katie, don’t say that.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t always know what you’re feeling. Only when I’m near you or if it’s an intense emotion.” His voice was fading out.

  “Did you find Gary? Geraldine Thorpe and her friend are missing, you know.”

  “I know.” There was a pause before he said, “Gary was on patrol. They’d sent him on a domestic disturbance call way out in the boonies. He wasn’t responding to his radio when I tried reaching him. I pretended to be a neighbor who’d seen someone lurking around his apartment.”

  “What about Harold?”

  “He wasn’t home, either. He lives way out on the east side of Flatlands, in some dump set off from the road. The house was dark, and his truck wasn’t there.”

  “Come back here and talk to me.”

  “I can’t. There’s something I have to do.”

  “Look, Ben’s going to be back sometime today, and then I won’t be able to talk to you until he leaves again this weekend. You can’t let me sit here wondering what’s going on and why you took off like you did last night.” And what you did while you were gone.

  She heard faint music in the background. “I can’t talk right now.” He hung up.

  “Damn you!” She banged the phone down on the unit, imagining it was his face. She glanced at the appointment schedule. Nothing for a few hours. She closed up and headed to the library.

  “I thought Dr. Ferguson was going to be back today,” Mrs. Miller said, pulling her Pekinese closer to her chest.

  Katie had spent the morning reading about Charles Swenson, one of the most heinous serial killers in the history of all serial killers. Silas had detailed the events in Swenson’s life that pushed him over the line. She felt vulnerable in the face of utter evil, sinking into the heart and soul of a man who enjoyed mutilating and killing women. Even if he had been fried two years ago. What she didn’t need was Mrs. Miller’s fearful gaze as she looked at Katie. Particularly when the woman looked an awful lot like her dog.

  “He’s on his way home now, but he’s going to help look for those girls.” When Katie had told him on the phone that morning, he cut his trip short to return. “I can handle the vaccinations, Mrs. Miller. I’ve been doing it for years.”

  “I’m sure you have, dear, but I only trust Dr. Ferguson with my Petunia. I’ll call to reschedule.” She turned, nearly tripped on the leash that dangled to the floor, and quickly departed without another glance back.

  Katie threw down her pen and crossed her arms over her chest. This helpless frustration had been building all day. She walked in the back to visit Goldie.

  “At least you trust me, don’t you?”

  Goldie licked her nose and chased away the dark feelings. The dog was limping around the recovery room, but her brown eyes were bright and full of life. Katie always judged a dog’s mood and outlook on what she called their doggie smile. When a dog was relaxed and comfortable, it panted and looked like it was smiling. Goldie did that now and aimed the smile at Katie. She felt ridiculous when her eyes watered in the gratitude and warmth of being someone’s hero.

  “Hello, Katie.”

  She spun around. It was Gary, looking tired and grim. He walked right up to her, inches from her face, then knelt down and scratched the dog’s head.

  “She looks okay.”

  Katie called Goldie over to the bed in
the corner to get her away from Gary. “She’s doing good for getting hit by a car.”

  “You think I hit her on purpose, don’t you?”

  She kept her gaze on Goldie. “I don’t know.”

  The groan would have touched her if it hadn’t come from Gary. “If you’d let yourself get to know me, you’d see I’m not like that anymore. I like animals. I stopped in to see how she was doing.”

  “That’s nice of you.” Her words sounded as hollow as a pipe. “You can see she’s doing just fine. Have you found out who owns her?”

  “We’ve been too busy trying to find Geraldine and Dana.”

  She slipped by him and out to the reception area. She wanted to put the desk between them. “Have they found anything?”

  “They’re gone,” Gary said in a low voice. “Just like the others. People want to believe anything but the truth. They’re even looking for sinkholes. But they’ll never be seen again.” His words sent a shiver down her spine.

  “You think Silas is doing this?”

  He leaned against the desk, making her back up—and chastise herself for showing fear. “Katie, it’s him. He’s been around the area every time a girl has disappeared or at least shortly afterward. We’re learning a lot about serial killers. They like to be part of the investigation, to pretend to help. Silas writes about it, interviews the families.” His gaze went to the book on her desk. “That’s him. He lives this stuff.” He paused. “He is this stuff.”

  She thought of the shadows in Silas’s eyes. Did they hide the pain of a killer? “I can’t believe he’s a killer.”

  “You know him that well?”

  “No.” She didn’t know, for instance, who the woman he’d lived with was and what she’d meant to him.

  “Katie, you’re making alliances with the wrong man. You look at me like I’m the biggest creep in the world. Like I’m a killer. I’m a cop, for God’s sake! One of the good guys. And when I say Silas is behind this, I see a wall go up in your eyes. Be careful who you trust, little girl.”