Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five) (17 page)

“I don’t understand,” Cade said. “Why would he take her then let her go? It doesn’t make sense.”

In a sick, twisted way, it did to me.

“He was angry,” I said. “When he took her, he knew he couldn’t kill her. He doesn’t know her enough to justify her death. She’s not part of the seven.”

“I agree,” Carlo said. “The way we’ve profiled him, we believe he planned his kills way ahead of time. He knew who he was taking and when…and why. With Shelby, he acted out of character, making a rash decision out of spite.” He looked at me. “Sloane, I think he’s convinced himself he’s extended an olive branch with Shelby. He gives her back, you leave him alone…maybe even hoping he’s convinced us to leave him alone, especially if he doesn’t believe what he’s doing is wrong.”

I hoped Carlo was right. I wanted the killer to be vulnerable, not looking over his shoulder. I wanted to catch him when he least expected it.

“You,” Cade said, looking at me. “
You
saved her life, Sloane. What you said on the phone, you must have convinced him to let her go.”

I didn’t feel like a hero. I hadn’t saved the day. If it wasn’t for me, Shelby wouldn’t have been taken in the first place.

“She’s safe now,” I said.

And I was determined never to put her life in danger again.

CHAPTER 35

Shelby told investigators she’d gone out to her father’s truck to get her soda and could hear a shuffling sound, like someone was creeping up behind her. She glanced back, thinking it was her dad not wanting to let her out of his sight. A wide piece of tape was slapped over her mouth, followed by thin fabric coming down over her face. She couldn’t see out. An object, cool and hard, pressed against the fabric, pushing in, resting on the back of her head. The barrel of a gun. She knew this because he’d told her.

When the man shoved her into his truck, he’d seized her by the arm, said if she made a sound, any sound at all, he’d enter the house, killing her father first before turning the gun on me. When she nodded in understanding, he demanded she sit on the floor, in front of the seat, low enough so no one could see her. She was told to bring her knees to her chest, cross her arms in front of them, and leave them there unless he said otherwise.

They’d driven in silence for several minutes, the bag remaining on her head. Then her cell phone rang, at which time he’d cranked the steering wheel, taking them to the side of the road, and got out. The moment he left the truck, she’d lifted the bag up a few inches, answered the call.

The man wrestled the phone away from her, hurled it on the ground. She heard the heel of his shoe come down, smashing the phone into pieces. She thought she’d die for her disobedience. Then he did something she didn’t expect. He took out his own phone and dialed. She stayed quiet, listened to the sound of his voice, deep and raspy. He didn’t sound young, like a boy her age, but he wasn’t old either. His truck reeked of chewing tobacco.

While the man talked on the phone, Shelby did what any curious teen would do, she felt around, slowly moving her fingers across the carpet beneath her. It was clean. No wrappers, no trash, nothing.

The man ended the phone call, wrenched her arm, set her on the seat next to him. She swung her hand around, clawed at the skin on his arm. He swore, struck her in the face. Then it got weird. He asked her if she would tell him a story. He wanted to know why her mother had left. Shelby was smart enough to hear the sympathy in his voice when he made the request. He told her he wanted to know everything, from beginning to end. She brought herself to tears as she mixed truth with lies, painting her mother as a modern-day Cruella de Vil. And it had worked.

When she finished talking, he’d battered his fists on the steering wheel. He commanded Shelby to return to the floorboard once again. He put the truck in gear and drove to a house. She knew this because she heard a garage door go up. They transferred from the truck to a car. The car smelled like lavender inside. They drove out of the garage, and the garage door went down. He drove several minutes then stopped again. He asked her to hold out her hands.

He didn’t
tell
her.

He
asked
her.

He then scrubbed her hands and fingernails with a wet cloth. It smelled like hand sanitizer, but stronger. He gave her specific instructions which he made her repeat before reaching in front of her, opening the passenger side door, and letting her go.

As Shelby told her story, every person witnessing her statement was baffled.

To my left, a short female rushed toward me, flailing her arms. She entered the interrogation room. “We found something when we were processing the girl’s coat.”

All eyes shifted to the woman and the white Ziploc dangling from her hand. A single slip of paper was inside. “This note was shoved inside the girl’s pocket.”

The chief turned to Shelby, eyes wide. “You know about this?”

“How could I? There was a bag over my head.”

“You have no idea when it was put there?”

“Umm…like I said…
no
.”

Emphasis on the “no.”

The chief held the bag in front of him, read aloud. “Proverbs 28:10 Whoso causeth the righteous to go astray in an evil way, he shall fall himself into his own pit: but the upright shall have good
things
in possession.”

This one was different. It didn’t fit. What message was he sending, and to whom?

Before we left, I took Carlo aside, pressing him about whether they’d spoken to Ronnie about Brynn.

“We did,” Carlo said. “Get this. He didn’t deny she had the abortion. He knew about the baby, but he claims it wasn’t his.”

“I thought they were a couple?” I asked.

“A few months ago, they took a break. The way Ronnie tells it, the break was Brynn’s idea. They got back together a month ago, and she confessed she’d had a one-night stand.”

“Did she say who with?”

“He told her he didn’t want to know. In his opinion, she only told him because she found out she was pregnant and she wanted to keep the baby. He said the only way he’d take her back was if she got rid of it.”

“Nice,” I said. “I guess carrying the baby to term and giving it up for adoption to a loving couple desperate to have a child of their own was out of the question.”

“He claims he was embarrassed. He didn’t want anyone to know what she had done. He said they couldn’t be together again until the deed was done, and if he found out she’d told anyone, even one of her friends, they were over for good.”

“So she had the abortion,” I said. “And he has no idea who the father is or was. Terrific.”

“Were you thinking the Sundance Killer was the father?”

“No. None of the victims had been violated sexually. In my opinion, he sees them as unclean. It was probably random, and while he was hunting Brynn, he found out about it somehow.”

“I agree.”

An image emerged in my head of the Sundance Killer—a silent predator, lurking, following, hiding in the shadows. Waiting and watching for months, maybe even longer. His obsession growing day after day as he monitored the movie. Disruption or not, he’d keep going. He was three down, and there were still four more to go.

CHAPTER 36

I wouldn’t have blamed Cade for splitting as soon as he was given permission to take his daughter, but he didn’t. He asked to stay another night. It was late. The roads back to Jackson Hole would be icy. It was safer if he left in the morning.

It took a couple hours, but with the help of a sleep aid, Boo snuggled by her side, and the kind of comfort only her father could give, Shelby finally dozed off.

After Cade had suffered through the loss of his daughter twice in one week, I decided it was only fair to answer his questions, starting with the explosion on day one and going from there. By the time I finished, he knew as much as I did. It felt good to let it all out. I ended the conversation by expressing how sorry I was.

Again.

It was a word I had become an expert at saying.

“You don’t need to keep apologizin’ for everything. Do you think I haven’t ever lost someone on a case I was workin’? We never want these things to happen. Sometimes they just do. As a friend, I’m tellin’ you right now, it’s time you get an alarm system installed in this house. I don’t wanna hear about your guns either. Sometimes guns aren’t enough. Not with the kind of cases you take on.”

He was right.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“I don’t want you to think about it, I want you to do it. If it’s too much hassle, I’ll install it myself before I leave.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m sure you can’t wait to get out of here. I’m glad you stayed tonight. It makes me feel a lot better knowing you’re here.”

“Even with the officer across the street?”

For a minute, I’d forgotten the officer was there. Most people would feel safe knowing an officer of the law was outside their home, specifically assigned for their protection. Instead, I felt trapped.

“I don’t know him,” I said, “the officer in the squad car. I know you. There’s the difference.”

“You think you’ll hear from him again?”

“The killer?” I asked.

“Him too, I guess. But I was talkin’ about Giovanni.”

I wondered when Giovanni would come up again.

“He…chose his family.”

“I don’t understand. Why?”

“His father put him in a position, forced him to make a choice,” I said.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m not. It’s almost like I expected this to happen.”

“Why?”

“Our relationship had been strained lately.”

“Do you regret it?”

“What?” I asked.

“Callin’ it quits.”

It was a loaded question, and it deserved a careful, well thought-out answer. I resisted the urge to blurt out my initial thought, knowing I couldn’t unsay something once it had been said. I didn’t want to admit a fragment of my heart felt like it had been severed from me. I didn’t want to reveal I’d considered calling Giovanni several times over the last two days, once even dialing his number and then hanging up before it started to ring. Those kinds of admissions were embarrassing, and not the kind another guy wanted to hear, no matter what they said to the contrary. No straight man remains close to a woman only to be content in the role of friend. Anyone who says different is lying, to themselves and to the other person. In my world, whether they admitted it or not, men wanted all or nothing.

“I try not to live my life with regrets,” I said. “I’m a realist. I accept things the way they are, learn from my mistakes, move on.” A good, safe answer, except he wasn’t buying it. I could tell. I’d never been much of a salesperson.

“You should go to bed. Your eyes are startin’ to close.”

“No they’re not. I’m fine.”

He leaned forward, framing my face with his hand. “Trust me, they are.”

I stood.

“Do you need more blankets? Another pillow? Anything?” I asked.

He kicked off his boots, set them to the side, pulled his hat over his face.

“You’re sleeping in your clothes?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said through the hat. “I’m just waitin’ for you.”

The thought of him dressed in anything other than Western wear was amusing.

“What time are you thinking you’ll head out in the morning?”

“We’ll see.”

We’ll see
. Noncommittal.

I walked over, pulled the hat off his face. “Cade?”

“Yeah?”

“You
are
leaving, right?”

“Why’d you ask—you want me to?”

“I didn’t say—”

“Sounds like it.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” I said.

“And you’re avoidin’ sleep.” He pulled the hat back over his face. “Goodnight, Sloane.”

CHAPTER 37

The time on my wall clock said it was a little past eleven in the morning, which couldn’t have been right. I never slept past seven. Maybe the batteries were dead. I reached for my cell phone, hoping the clock was wrong. No such luck.

I wrapped my hair around an elastic band, brushed my teeth, and did my best to walk a straight line to the living room. My head was pounding. Too little sleep followed by too much does wonders for a person. Cade sat on a chair, feet propped up on the coffee table, eyes glued to a hunting show on the television on a channel I never knew I had. Three men, dressed in camouflage from head to toe, crouched down, rifles in hand, all of them whispering.

“What’s with the lowered voices?” I asked.

Cade turned around, tried not to seem startled to find me standing there, even though he was. “They don’t want the animals knowin’ they’re there.”

He was whispering too. Odd.

“What animals?”

Before he could answer, one of the guys stuck a small device in between his lips. He squeezed it then blew into the hole. It emitted a sound so shrill, I imagined a chipmunk screaming.

“They’re callin’ in a coyote.”

“Using that…thing? I thought they were trying to be quiet?”

My lack of intelligence in the area of hunting seemed to amuse him.

“It’s supposed to sound like a rabbit.”

“A rabbit doing what?” I asked.

“Uhh…dyin’…the sound brings ’em in.”

I wasn’t sure what face I pulled, but the TV was switched off without delay.

“There’s no rabbit,” he said. “It’s just a device. Okay?”

“Yep.”

“You hungry?”

He walked to the kitchen, uncovered a plate of eggs, bacon, potatoes, even toast.

“When did you get all of this?” I asked.

“Last night. We stopped at the store before all the madness happened.”

I bit into a piece of bacon and revisited my question from the night before. “So when do you plan on heading out?”

“Let’s talk about it.”

“About what?” I asked.

“Leaving.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“This guy you’re lookin’ for…when he took my daughter, he made it personal.”

“They’ll catch him.”

“Maybe they will or maybe
I
will. I don’t give a damn if I don’t have jurisdiction here. I’m not leavin’.”