Out Of Control (4 page)

She
swallowed a sigh as she went to pay for printing.

****

“She
wants to do what?” Cole Landry tilted his Stetson back on his head.

“You
heard me,” John Garrett said.

Cole
leaned back in his chair across from Garrett in the editor’s office and stared
at him. “Tell me again.”

“She
plans to dig into the old pedophile killer cases.” He dropped into his chair
behind the desk. “I left her going through files in the storage room, so let’s
keep this conversation between ourselves.”

Cole
frowned. “You know how long it took the town to get over everything that
happened. There are people who still haven’t recovered.”

Even
as a kid, he hadn’t been immune to the details of the horrific crimes. It had
been impossible to avoid hearing about them.

Garrett
picked up a book on the side of his desk and handed it to the sheriff. “Here.
Her latest. A best seller, just like all her others. Her picture’s on the back.”
He flipped it over.

The
moment John handed him the book Cole realized why she seemed so familiar. Even
he had seen her picture on the books in stores.

“Damn
good looking woman, despite everything,” Garrett went on. “Maybe you can
romance her out of this pickle.”

Cole
stared at the picture. The editor was right. Dana Moretti, even in a
photograph, had a latent sexuality that made him want to find out just how deep
it went. Except for the eyes. He’d never seen such cold eyes in a woman.

He
handed the book back. “I think that falls outside the demands of my job, John.
But I’ll have a talk with her about this. Maybe convince her what a bad idea
this is.”

Garrett
shook his head. “No, let’s just see if the gruesome details chase her away
first. Maybe she’ll decide she can’t hack it after all.”

Cole
pushed his chair back. “If not, I’ll think of something. I’m sure not anxious to
have the county down on my head about her.”

****

Barely
able to tolerate the thought of food after her morning’s reading material, Dana
instead looked for the real estate office that had registered on her
consciousness the day before. One night at the High Ridge Motel was one night
too many. When research kept her in the same place for several months, she’d
learned to search out the availability of short-term rentals.

Jane
Milburn, the disgustingly perky real estate agent, was only too excited to sign
a lease with famous best-selling true crime author Dana Moretti.

“The
owner won’t take less than six months, though,” she apologized, pushing the
contract across the tiny desk in the tinier office. “Will that be all right?
You didn’t say how long you plan to stay.”

“I
really don’t know yet, but the six months is no problem even if I leave early.”
Dana signed both copies of the lease.

“The
house is completely furnished with linens, dishes, and cooking utensils,” Jane
said in her best sales voice. “You’ll need to stop by the municipal building to
change the utilities to your name and have a phone line activated.”

“Thanks.
I won’t need the phone. I can use my cell. But I’ll take of the others.” She
was anxious to get moving and see where she’d be living for a while.

“Are
you here to work on another book?” Jane’s eyes sparkled with avid curiosity.

“Yes,
I am.” Dana folded her copy of the lease and stuck it in her purse with the
keys. In a voice as level as she could make it she added, “I’m looking into the
child abductions and murders that happened here some years ago.”

The
agent’s face closed up as if a shutter had lowered. All the friendly sparkle
disappeared. “I’m sorry to hear that. It was a terrible time for High Ridge,
and I know people won’t like having it dug up all over again.”

“I
understand the man was never caught.” She watched Jane’s reaction carefully.

“That’s
because it was some drifter or day laborer.” Jane’s tone was clipped and icy. “A
person who hung around for a while and then moved on.”

Dana
raised an eyebrow. “
Hung around
for two years? Seems like someone would
have noticed him during that time.”

“Well,
they didn’t and now he’s gone.” She studied Dana with cold eyes. All the
perkiness had disappeared. “Maybe you won’t need that house after all. I’d be
happy to tear up the contract.”

“I
think I’ll take my chances.” Dana’s tone matched hers.

“Listen,
Miss Moretti. I was just a little girl when everything happened, but I know what
a terrible, terrible time it was for High Ridge. Everyone’s tried to put it
behind them.” Jane slammed the desk drawer shut with a bang. “Don’t expect
anyone to talk to you about it.”

Dana
pasted on her best professional smile. “I usually have pretty good luck getting
people to open up to me. Maybe I will this time, too.”

The
real estate agent swept the contract into a folder, a signal the discussion was
over.

“I
think we’re done here,” Her voice couldn’t have been colder if it was chipped
from a freezer. She looked pointedly at her watch. “You should probably get
moving if you want to take care of the utilities today.”

“Thank
you for everything.” Dana rose from her chair. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you
around.”

“Don’t
count on it.” By now, the professional polish was completely gone.

As
she was unlocking her car, she noticed a black pickup cruising past her and a
thread of memory dangled in her brain. Hadn’t she seen it someplace earlier? Like
this morning? A shiver of unease skittered over her spine as she cranked up the
engine on her little rented compact.

****

“This
is stupid,” Cole muttered to himself.

What
in hell was he doing following this woman? He’d left his county vehicle in the
lot along with his uniform shirt and taken his truck. Strictly by chance, he’d
seen her coming out of Janie Milburn’s office and head for the Gas and Go. He
barely had enough time to make the vehicle switch and pick her up again. Now he
stayed far enough behind her, allowing two or three vehicles to ride in
between, hoping he wouldn’t tease her antennae.

Where
the hell was she going? She was heading for the west side of town, but what
could she be looking for? There wasn’t all that much out that way. He muttered
a curse when he saw her turn into the fairgrounds entrance. This was where the
last two victims had been taken. Cole tried to remember if that tidbit had made
it into the newspapers. Then he remembered she’d been going through old files
this morning. Had she come to the last one already, the one about the little
Nolan girls?

He
watched her park her car near the concession stand, get out, and walk to the
picnic area. She stood, nearly as still as a statue, just staring around her as
if trying to visualize what had happened. How did she do what she did? Get
inside the minds of dead people and killers to find answers that eluded
everyone else.

He
waited, wondering what she would do next. He was shocked at what he saw. She
stumbled to a tree and vomited, then dropped onto one of the picnic benches and
buried her head in her hands. From the way her shoulders shook, he knew she was
crying and they weren’t any ladylike tears. So she wasn’t such a cold fish
after all. Or was there something personal in all this? In the Marines, he’d
learned to read people fast. Sometimes his very life depended on it. And his
well-developed gut instinct told him. Something here just wasn’t adding up.

He’d
do a little more digging on Miss Dana Moretti.

Eventually
the tears must have dried up, because she dug a tissue out of her pocket, wiped
her eyes and blew her nose, and walked slowly back to her car. She looked up,
and for a moment, Cole thought she’d seen him. Then she climbed into the little
car, cranked the engine and tore out of the parking lot like every demon in the
world was after her.

****

The
headache gestating since Dana got on the plane the day before was threatening
to emerge full blown. After the episode at the fairgrounds, she wanted only to
curl up in a fetal position and shut out the world. But she hadn’t checked out
her rental yet and she needed at least the minimum of groceries and supplies.
Freddie’s Gas and Go seemed the quickest answer.

As
she moved through the small convenience store, she had the sense that every
pair of eyes was glued to her. Mulling over the presence of the “muckraker,” as
she’d sometimes been called, and what it was going to mean to them and the
county.

From
what little she’d seen so far, it didn’t appear that High Ridge had experienced
a population explosion since she left, so she supposed it was just that a
strange face piqued everyone’s interest. She didn’t know if John Garrett had
mentioned to anyone what she was doing here, but she was sure Marion Jordan
had.

Did
they react the same way Marion had? Did any of them read her books and
recognize her? Did the killer? Was he here somewhere?

Dredging
up her best professional smile for the clerk, she paid for her purchases and
carried them to her car. By the time she found the address on the directions
Jane Milburn had given her and brought everything inside, Dana’s head felt as
if she’d stuck it in a vise. Digging two aspirin from her purse, she swallowed
them with a glass of water at the sink, closed her eyes, and willed the pain in
her head to subside.

The
house was comfortably furnished and had obviously been recently cleaned, but it
still had the stale, closed-in feeling that suddenly made her claustrophobic.
Dana opened a couple of windows, welcoming the rush of air. She took time to
put away her groceries, knowing she should put something in her empty stomach,
but even the
thought
of food made her stomach heave again. What she needed
first was something to ease the mental strain gripping her body. Something
mindless to make her forget for a while why she was here.

When
her nerves were strung this tight, physical exercise usually did it for her.
Deciding to take a run through her new neighborhood, she changed into shorts
and a T-shirt and laced up her jogging shoes. What better way to familiarize
herself with the area?

She
glanced around as she moved from the front porch to the wide sidewalk. A nice,
neat neighborhood. Well kept. Quiet. Exactly the environment she needed.

Taking
a deep breath, she headed off, setting her pace, lengthening her stride as her
body fell into the familiar rhythm. As her muscles stretched, she felt the
tension ease. The evening air had a fresh smell to it, and a soft breeze teased
at the tendrils of curls escaping her pony tail.

In
a moment it all changed, the breeze shifting to a freshening wind, heavy clouds
moving in. She was ten blocks from the house when fat drops of rain began
pelting her skin, and in seconds, she was soaked.

She
sloshed through the rapidly accumulating puddles and was wishing she’d opted
for wine and a hot bath when a large, black pickup pulled to the curb and the
passenger side window slid down. Dana began running faster, her natural fear of
strangers, especially men, kicking in.

“Hey!”
The voice was deep, heavy, masculine. “Need a ride?”

She
glanced sideways. It was the same truck she’d seen earlier, she was sure. She
didn’t stop long enough to get more than a brief glimpse of the driver. Male,
wearing the traditional Stetson. Was it
him
? Had he already discovered
her and identified the grown woman who was once the child?

Just
like that, the familiar panic threatened to swallow her up. The pounding of her
heart and the sensation of air trapped in her lungs had little to do with her
physical exertion. This was the same kind of paralyzing feared that wrapped its
tentacles around her whenever she was confronted with an unknown, unexpected
male presence.

Dana
pushed harder, strides eating up the distance back the way she’d come.

Just
let me get to the house. Please. Just let me get away from him.

“You’re
soaked,” the voice called to her as the truck slowed. “You’ll catch pneumonia.
Be sensible. I promise I’m harmless. Come on. Let me give you a ride.”

Yeah,
right. God, make him get away from me.

The
voice didn’t sound familiar, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t
him
. He’d
have changed, gotten older like she had. She increased her speed, hoping that
would be a signal to back off. Her heart was trip-hammering so hard she
expected it to leap through her chest at any moment. She’d stupidly left her
cell phone in her purse so she couldn’t even call the sheriff.

At
the corner, the truck turned in front of her and she had a vague impression of
a man at the wheel, but the rain made it impossible to see him clearly. There
was a big dog, some kind of shepherd, sitting up in the back seat. When the
truck stopped at the curb, literally in her path, the fear was so intense it
choked her.

Get
away! Get away!

“Listen,
it’s all right,” the driver called. “I’m…”