Chill Factor (16 page)

"See you tomorrow," Dutch said curtly.

The officer headed for his squad car. Hawkins was already
scrambling
into his pickup when Dutch caught up with him. "I'll be looking for you
first thing tomorrow morning. You'd better be easy to find."

"I'll be at my house. You know where it's at?"

"I'll pick you up at dawn. When I get there, if you're drunk
or
hungover, you'll wish I'd gone ahead and shot you."

They followed Hawkins's pickup out of the garage. Not
surprisingly,
one of its taillights was missing. "I should write him a citation for
that," Dutch grumbled when Hawkins split off at an intersection.

When they reached the Hamers' house, Wes said, "Drop me at the
end
of the driveway. No need to pull in."

Dutch brought the Bronco to a stop. Neither man spoke for
several
moments. Wes stared glumly through the windshield and finally said, "No
sign of it letting up, is there?"

Dutch cursed the maelstrom of snow and sleet. "I'm getting up
there
tomorrow if I have to sprout wings and fly."

"That's exactly what you may have to do," Wes said. "Where are
you
off to now?"

"I'm going to drive around town a bit. Check things out."

"Why don't you park it for the night, Dutch? Get some sleep."

"Couldn't if I tried. I'm running on adrenaline and caffeine
now."

Wes studied him for a moment before saying, "I recommended you
for
this job."

Dutch turned and gave his friend a hard look. "Having second
thoughts?"

"None. But I don't think I'm out of order by reminding you how
much
your future is riding on succeeding here."

"Look, if you think I'm botching the job—"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what?"

"I'm saying your reputation is on the line, and so is mine."

"And you always have your ass well covered, don't you, Wes?"

"You're goddamn right I do," he fired back.

Dutch snorted. "You always had big, bad linemen blocking you,
and if
they didn't, you gave them hell. I was out there being hammered by
linebackers with necks thicker than my waist. You didn't give a shit
that I got creamed, so long as you were protected."

Realizing how juvenile he must sound, harking back to their
football
days, he bit back any further comments. What Wes had said was the sad,
ugly truth. He knew it. It just irked him to hear it.

"Dutch," Wes said in a carefully measured tone, "we're not
playing
tiddlywinks here. Or even football. Our little town has got itself a
psycho, some weirdo, snatching up women. Five of them now. God only
knows what he's doing to them. People are scared, on edge, wondering
how many are going to fall victim before he's caught."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that I haven't seen you get worked up over our
town
crisis nearly the way you got worked up over Lilly being stuck in a
nice, cozy cabin on a snowy eve. Sure, you're worried about her. Okay.
Some concern is justified. But for chrissake give it some perspective."

"Don't preach to me, Mr. Chairman of the city council."
Dutch's
soft-spoken voice was in contrast to the rage pulsing through him.
"You're hardly a moral yardstick, Wes." To hammer his point home, he
added with emphasis, "Especially where the welfare of women is
concerned."

CHAPTER  11

YOU HAVE ASTHMA?"

"Chronic asthma. Nonallergic asthma." Lilly ran her hand
around the
inside of her empty handbag, knowing it was futile. The small pouch in
which she kept her medication wasn't in there. Anxiously she pushed her
fingers through her hair, then cupped her mouth and chin with her hand.
"Where is it?"

"You're not having an asthma attack."

"Because I take medication to prevent them. An inhaler and a
pill."

"Without them—"

"I could have an attack. Which would be bad since I don't have
my
bronchodilator."

"Broncho—"

"Dilator, dilator," she said impatiently. "An inhaler to use
during
an attack."

"I've seen people use those."

"Without it I can't breathe." She stood up and paced a tight
circle.
"Where is that bag? It's about this big," she said, holding her palms
six inches apart. "Green silk, crystal beads on it. One of my staff
gave it to me last Christmas. She'd noticed the one I had was worn out."

"Maybe you left—"

Even before he finished, she was shaking her head and
interrupting.
"It's always in my purse, Tierney. Always. It was there this afternoon."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Breathing cold air can bring on an attack, so I
used one
of my inhalers right before I left the cabin." Growing more frantic by
the moment, she wrung her hands. "It was in my bag this afternoon, but
it's not there now, so what happened to it?"

"Calm down."

She rounded on him, angry over his inability to understand her
panic. He didn't know what it was like to gasp for breath and fear that
soon he'd be unable to do even that. "Don't tell me to calm down. You
don't know—"

"Right." He took her by the shoulders and gave her a slight
shake.
"I don't know anything about asthma except that hysteria can't be good
for it. You're working yourself into a tizzy. Now calm down."

She resented his stern tone of voice, but of course he was
right.
She nodded at him and wiggled herself out of his grip. "All right, I'm
calm."

"Let's backtrack. You used the inhaler as you were leaving the
cabin, correct?"

"As I was walking out the door for the final time. I know I
replaced
it in my handbag. I remember fumbling with the clasp because I had my
gloves on. But even if I had accidentally left it behind, it would be
in this room. We've been over every square inch of this cabin. It's not
here or one of us would have seen it."

"Your handbag was slung onto the floorboard when your car
struck the
tree, remember?"

No, she hadn't remembered that until now. "Of course." She
groaned.
"The pouch must have fallen out then.
It
would have
been on top of everything else because I'd just put it back in."

"Then that's the only logical explanation. When you pulled
your
purse from under the dash, did you check to see if the medicine bag was
inside?"

"No. It didn't occur to me to check for anything that might
have
spilled out. My mind was on our predicament."

"Under normal circumstances, when would you next need the
medication?"

"Bedtime. Unless I had an episode, in which case I would need
one of
my inhalers immediately."

Tierney digested that. "Then we'll just have to do everything
we can
to prevent an attack. What precipitates them? Besides breathing cold
air. And, by the way, how in hell did you walk uphill, practically
carrying me, without suffering an attack?"

"My medications work well to prevent them. If I use common
sense and
take my meds, I can do just about anything I want. Kayak in white
water, for instance," she added with a weak smile.

"But that walk up here nearly did me in, Lilly. How did you do
it?"

"Maybe I was imbued with superhuman strength after all." To
let him
in on the inside joke, she explained. "When you were lying in the road,
and I was rushing to get the blanket and so forth, I wondered why I
wasn't experiencing the adrenaline rush people are supposed to get
during a crisis situation."

"Maybe you did and just didn't realize it."

"Evidently. Anyway, attacks are brought on by overexertion,
certainly. Irritants like dust, mold, and air pollution. I'm pretty
safe from all that up here, especially in the winter. But then there's
stress," she continued. "It can cause an attack.

"After Amy died, I had frequent attacks from crying so much.
They
decreased over time, of course, but I should avoid becoming
overwrought." She gave him a smile that she hoped looked courageous.
"I'm sure I'll be fine. It probably won't matter if I skip a few doses."

He looked at her thoughtfully, then glanced at the door. "I'll
go
back to the car and get it."

"No!" She grabbed his sleeve and held on for dear life. Worse
than
not having her medication within reach would be not having it and
suffering an attack while she was alone.

Soon after Amy's death, she'd been seized by an attack during
the
night. The sound of her own wheezing had awakened her, and she began
coughing up the most vile mucus. Her air passages were almost
completely blocked by the time she inhaled the life-saving drug.

It had been a particularly scary episode because she had been
alone.
Dutch hadn't come home that night. Nor had he called to tell her that
he would be late. Having run out of flimsy excuses, he found it easier
not to phone at all than to phone with a lying explanation.

She had eventually given up waiting for him and gone to bed
.
She remembered thinking later that it would have served him right if
she hadn't used her inhaler in time, or if it hadn't been sufficient to
clear her air passages, if he'd come home to find that she'd suffocated
while he was with another woman.

Realizing she was still holding Tierney's sleeve in a
desperate
clutch, she let go. "You couldn't make it to the car and back without
collapsing," she said. "You'd be out there lost, frozen, or
unconscious, and I'd still be here without my meds. We'd be worse off,
not better."

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I'm afraid you're
right.
I'll put off going until there's no other choice."

"If it comes to that, don't go without telling me." She was
ashamed
of the emotion welling up inside her, but it was vitally important to
her that he understand this. "I've lived with asthma all my life, but a
severe attack is still a terrifying experience. I'm comfortable with
being alone as long as my emergency inhaler is within reach. But it's
not. I don't want to wake up gasping for air and find myself here
alone, Tierney. Promise me."

"I promise," he vowed softly.

A log in the fireplace shifted, sending a shower of sparks up
the
chimney. Lilly turned away from him and knelt on the hearth to stir the
embers beneath the iron grate.

"Lilly?"

"Hmm?" When Tierney didn't respond, she turned her head.
"What?"

"How would you feel about sleeping together?"

Marilee Ritt had a relaxing evening.

Although it hadn't been officially announced, she knew there
would
be no school tomorrow. Even if the buses could run their routes, which
they couldn't, it would cost the school district dearly to heat the
buildings in temperatures this extreme.

Nevertheless, the superintendent took perverse pleasure in
noti—fying everyone of the cancellation at the last possible
moment,
usu—ally in the morning about an hour before the bell was due
to ring.
It was his little power play not to let everyone sleep in.

Rather than grade papers, which was what she usually did with
her
evenings, Marilee watched one of the videos she had brought home from
the drugstore. The female protagonist was a vacuous character. The male
was a cad with no redeeming qualities. The film's only merits were the
chemistry between the equally attractive actors and a good theme song
performed by Sting. So what if there were holes in the plot and the
dialogue was sappy? It wasn't Dosto-evsky, but it was fun escapism, and
she had enjoyed it.

As she made her way through the house, she switched off lights
and
checked to see that all the doors were locked. Glancing down the
bedroom hall, she noticed that no light was coming from beneath
William's door. She guessed he'd been in bed for hours. He was early to
retire, early to rise.

She went into her bedroom and closed the door, but she didn't
turn
on the lamp. A streetlight halfway down the block cast enough of a glow
through the window shade for her to see her way around. She removed the
decorative throw pillows from her bed and folded back the down
comforter.

Then she went into the bathroom and began to undress. She took
her
time, removing each garment slowly, then carefully setting it aside
before removing another. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh, but still
she didn't rush.

When she was naked, she removed the elastic band that held her
ponytail and shook her hair free, combing her fingers through the
wheat-colored strands, about which she was secretly vain. She liked
feeling it loose and soft against her bare shoulders.

Her nightgown was hanging on a hook on the back of the door.
She
slipped it on. It was unseasonably skimpy, but she loved lacy, silky
nightwear and wore it year-round. Shivering, she padded into the
bedroom.

She was climbing onto her bed when he caught her around the
waist
with one arm and clamped his other hand over her mouth. She tried to
scream and arched her back in an effort to break away from him.

"Shh!" he hissed, directly into her ear. "Be still or I'll
have to
hurt you."

Marilee stopped struggling.

"That's more like it," he said. "Is your brother asleep?"

"Hm-mmm?"

He squeezed her waist tighter, drawing her up hard against his
chest. His breath was warm and humid against her ear and neck. "I asked
if your brother is asleep?"

She hesitated a moment, then nodded.

"Okay. That's good. Do as I say, and I won't hurt you.
Understand?"

Her heart was knocking against her ribs, but she gave another
nod of
assent.

"If I take my hand away from your mouth, will you scream?" She
shook
her head, perhaps too quickly to be sincere. He growled, "If you
do—"

She shook her head more adamantly.

Gradually, he removed his hand from her mouth. She whimpered,
"What
are you going to do to me?"

Then he showed her.

CHAPTER  12