Love on Loch Ness (22 page)

****

Eight hours later, Mac placed his elbows on his desk and rested his head against his hands. He was tired. He had a headache and his leg throbbed. Maybe getting out of police work wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe he could meet a nice woman who wasn't dead. Someone he could go home to. That he could love. Maybe even have a family. Oh, he knew a lot of guys on the force who had good marriages. His partner was one of them. Jonsey had a great marriage. But Mac felt his own life was too full of the dark side.

He went right from rookie to narcotics for five years, most of it undercover. The last seven he'd been in homicide, picking up the pieces of destroyed lives. Neither had been conducive to meeting decent women. Both were hard on relationships. He should know — he'd tried. With a sigh, he sat back, pulled open his drawer and got out the ibuprofen. He hoped that would do the job on his head and leg. He almost wished for something stronger, but after working narcotics, he couldn't bring himself to take the pain pills the doctor had prescribed for him after leaving the hospital.

What he needed was sleep. Hopefully, there'd be some more information in the morning. It was time to follow Jonesy's example and go home. And, again, he thought it would be a whole lot sweeter if someone was there waiting.

****

Laken felt much better as she hurried from the bus stop. She knew she probably should have stayed home again so she'd have a long weekend to get better, but she couldn't wait until Monday to talk to Mr. Hoster. She wanted an explanation why he'd given her the wrong time. She'd gone over it again and again in her mind and knew it hadn't been an accident. No doubt about it, but she didn't understand why. He had always seemed respectful and appreciated her work.

Anger surged again. He knew how hard she'd worked on the plans. Why would he cut her out of the meeting? What could've been the purpose of not letting her present? She wished she could blame it on being sick, but down inside she knew that wasn't the reason. The proof was in their interactions that week. He'd continually stressed the one o'clock time. After all that work, he'd done it on purpose.

The tears that had plagued her since the day before welled up. She was not going to cry. Pushing back the pain, she clung to the anger, she would get an explanation. Her plans had been good. They were more than good. They would have been chosen. She could wring Hoster's neck.

For months now, she'd been wondering about her position at the company. Waiting for the opportunity to move up, or wondering if she should just move on. Living in the big city didn't fit her, especially not the single life there. Hanging out at bars and talking with strangers was not her forte And it hadn't taken her long to learn that inner-office dating was not a good idea even when working in a male-dominated office.

Her social life had become nonexistent about eight months earlier. Which left a lot of time in the evenings to work on plans, but she wanted a social life. She wanted to find someone special. To be honest, she wanted that more than she wanted her designs to be picked. Why couldn't she have both? Well, she might not be able to do much about her love life, but she could find out why Hoster had excluded her and what her future held at the Warner Agency. She turned down the hall.

“You look better today,” Kathy greeted as she approached.

“I feel better, just a little draggy.”

“Maybe you should've taken another day,” Kathy suggested.

“I'm fine. I'll have the weekend to rest up. Is Hoster in?” Laken glanced at the closed office door.

“Yes, but he left a
do not disturb
for the next couple hours.”

A wave of frustration rolled over Laken. She wanted answers — now. Resigned, she looked back at Kathy. “Will you set up an appointment for me before lunch?”

“Sure, eleven-thirty good?”

“Yes.”

Laken didn't think eleven-thirty would ever get there. The morning dragged on forever. At twenty after, she left her drafting table and went to the ladies room to freshen up and steel herself for the confrontation. At twenty-five after, she strode up Kathy's desk.

“I'm so sorry, Laken, I just tried to call you. Mr. Hoster hurried out a couple minutes ago. He said he had an important meeting and wouldn't be back until Monday.” Kathy sounded genuinely upset. “I tried to tell him you wanted to talk to him.”

Laken's stomach churned. The snake! He had avoided her on purpose — she had no doubt. Her heart pounded with frustration. “Can you set me an appointment for first thing Monday morning?” She ground the words out.

“I'll make it nine-fifteen. He's usually here by then,” Kathy answered.

Of course, Laken thought, not like her eight o'clock or earlier. “Thanks.” She forced out a weak smile. The smile faltered as she noticed the newspaper lying on the corner of Kathy's desk. In a flash, Laken saw the face looking up at her as the killer's hand reached down. Laken staggered. Lights slashed through her mind. Buzzing rang in her ears. For a minute, she thought she would faint. Kathy must have thought so too because the next thing Laken knew, Kathy had her by the elbow, directing her down to the chair.

“You should never have come in today,” Kathy was saying.

“No, I'm okay. Sorry.” Laken drew in a deep breath and reached for the newspaper. “The woman.” She couldn't get any more out, starring down at a picture of the woman in her nightmare.

“Oh, that. Mr. Hoster dropped the paper on my desk as he left. I was just reading it. Scary.” Kathy looked over to her in concern. “Did you know her?”

“I think I've seen her before.”

“She worked in the building across the quad. And, actually, she wouldn't have lived far from you. She was killed only a couple blocks from her apartment.”

The word
killed
hit Laken like a blow of ice, chilling her to the bone. “How was she killed?” She knew with a sick dread what the answer was going to be.

“Stabbed. Listen, I think you'd better head back home. You look really pale again.”

“I'm fine. Do you mind if I look at the paper a minute?”

“No, go ahead.” The secretary handed it to her, still looking her over.

The article didn't say much more than Kathy had told her. Except the body was found in an alley not far from where Laken lived, and the police were looking for anyone who had information about the attack. Images poured through her mind in vivid detail: the chase, the fear, the exultation of the hunter. Laken's heart pounded in her chest bringing with it a wave of nausea.

“Laken, are you all right?” The words finally got through to her.

“Yes, but I think I'm going to take your advice and leave now.”

“Good. Get some rest and don't come in Monday if you don't feel all better.”

“I'll be fine, and I'll be here for the appointment.” The only way she would miss it was if she were dead. A shiver went through her, and she took one last glance at the newspaper.

Laken really had planned to go home when she gathered her purse and jacket, but when the bus stopped in front of her she turned away and started walking. Her mind locked on a vision of the murder as it played over and over. No conscious thought came to her about where she was going or what she was going to do until, over an hour later, she found herself standing in front of the old, gray brick building of the police station.

“No, no way,” she said to herself as she placed a foot on the step. She couldn't walk in there and say she had seen a murder in her dream. They'd think she was a wacko who got kicks harassing police, or plain psycho and she'd find herself locked up in mental ward. She tried to make herself turn as she took the next step, but then the image of the woman in the paper came to her mind and she took the last three. At the door, she paused again and almost had won the battle to turn away, when a man came out and held the door for her.

Laken swallowed hard and managed to step inside. She felt sick again. She shouldn't be there. Heat waved over her. She should be home in bed, instead of being ushered through a metal detector.

She stared around the large lobby, not sure where to go or what to do. To the side of the door was a large staircase, next to it a set of elevators. Chairs filled with people lined up in two rows, backs together, in the center of the room. Directly ahead sat a tall, hardwood counter; several uniformed officers stood behind it.

“May I help you?” one officer said directly to her.

She managed to pull her resolve around her and step forward. “I think so.” She forced a swallow as her voice shook. “I'd like to speak with someone about the murder.”

“Which murder?” the man asked off-handedly.

How many murders did they get? Laken almost asked, and then decided she really didn't want to know. “The one in the paper, the woman who was stabbed and left in the alley.” Funny, she couldn't think of the name but would never forget the face.