Rising Heat (88 page)

“I suppose not,” he said.

He looked tired. “Did you find out anything out there… at my house?” I asked. “Any clues?”

“The scene is still being processed,” he replied. “I know this is difficult for you, but would you mind going over your day?”

“Yes, but first can you tell me where Hawk is? I haven’t been able to get a hold of him. My phone calls are going straight to his voicemail.” Westin didn’t answer my question and I explained further. “He said he would come get me before it got dark. Do you know if he was going somewhere? Going to see someone? Maybe one of his informants?”

“Tracy, I really need you to concentrate on what happened, at least for the moment,” Westin said.

I was frustrated, and I knew he was right, but what could I say? “I didn’t notice anything,” I said, rushing through the awful memory. I tried to maintain a sense of calm even though I felt anything but. “I worked most of the day. Saw the first police cruiser out there, and then, about the middle of the afternoon, the first one drove away and the second cruiser took its place. Then, when it was just starting to get a little dark, I decided to take him some coffee—”

“So that was your thermos?”

“Yes, I dropped it when I saw—” I broke off, feeling a surge of bile rising in my throat. I swallowed heavily. “I didn’t see anything or hear anything.” I clenched my hands together and looked up at the detective who watched me carefully. “Had he been… had he been dead long?”

Westin shook his head. “From what the coroner could tell at the scene, he’d been dead less than thirty minutes when you called it in.”

Once again, I felt a surge of tears. “I’m so sorry, Detective Westin, this is all my fault—”

“No, Tracy, it’s not,” he said sharply. “You can’t think that way.”

“But if I’d never insisted on going home, to work no less, he never would have been there, wouldn’t have been a target,” I stammered. “But why would the killer go after a cop?”

Detective Westin didn’t answer that question, but broached one for me. “You haven’t received any more messages, have you?”

I shook my head. “And I don’t expect to. Hawk told me not to use my cell phone. It’s in his office. I have a throwaway phone—”

“That’s why I couldn’t reach you earlier,” he said, nodding in understanding. “If you don’t mind, would you give me the number to your new phone? In case Detective Cutter or I need to get in touch with you?”

I nodded and took the piece of paper and pen he handed to me. I didn’t think twice about it. But couldn’t he have just dialed back the number that must have shown up on his desk phone when I called the police station as I left my house?

My hand shook as I placed the paper on the edge of his desk and then reached into my pocket for the phone. I opened it, pressed a button, and then another to access the phone number, which I hadn’t even memorized. I wrote it down for the detective and then handed the slip of paper back to him.

“I’m not sure what I should do,” I said. I felt lost, uncertain, which was certainly understandable. “Detective Westin, have you heard from Hawk? Do you know where he is?”

The detective grimaced slightly. Hesitated. My heart skipped a beat. Something hadn’t happened to Hawk, had it? Or his mother. I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Is he all right? Is his mother all right?”

Detective Westin finally answered. “Tracy, Hawk’s in jail.”

F
or a few seconds, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. Then shock set in. “What?” I gasped. “Hawk’s in jail? Why?”

I couldn’t believe it. Surely Detective Westin hadn’t said that. Why would Hawk be in jail? A million thoughts ran through my head in about the span of the second. Even though I was sitting down, I felt weak and wobbly. I clutched the arms of the chair, the cold metal making contact with my skin, sending a shiver through me.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Tracy, but he was in a fight last night—”

“A fight?” I interrupted, my eyes wide, my heart pounding. “What kind of fight?”

“At one of the local bars—”

“A
bar?”
I again interrupted. I didn’t mean to keep interrupting him, but my God, how was I supposed to react to such news? My private investigator, the one who was supposed to protect me, the one who hadn’t showed up at my house earlier this evening? He hadn’t shown up because he’s been in a freaking fight, and a bar fight no less? I stared at Detective Westin. I couldn’t even form words.

The detective made a calming gesture with his hand. “Let me finish, Tracy.”

He waited until I nodded before continuing. “Hawk didn’t say much to Cutter, who called and told me, so I can’t tell you why he went there—”

“Was he drunk?” I couldn’t help it. Why else would someone go to a bar? To drink, that’s why! A sudden surge of anger replaced my shock. How dare he! Drinking on the job? And in the middle of the day? Had I completely misjudged him? What was I supposed to think?

“Tracy, like I said, I can’t tell you why he went there. He doesn’t exactly express himself to me. Was he drinking? I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I haven’t even gotten a copy of the arrest report yet—”

I did it again. “Arrest report!” I shook my head. “Can I see him?”

Westin shook his head. “He’s in county lockup.”

The minute the words left my mouth, I was asking myself if I really wanted to see him. Had I completely misjudged Hawk? My mind drifted back to my instant attraction to him. Had I been so enamored of his physique, his muscles, and his chiseled features that I’d ignored what might have otherwise been obvious signs of a lack of character? I didn’t think so, but this news threw me for a loop and that was putting it mildly. I was confused. I didn’t know what to think. I looked at Westin, frowning when I saw what I took to be his complete lack of concern.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“Tracy, Cutter should be here soon. Like I said, he went to the crime scene when he got back into town. He’s the one who told me about Hawk. Apparently, Hawk used his phone call to contact Cutter.”

How did that help me? And why hadn’t Cutter called me and given me the news? I looked at Westin in accusation. “And neither one of you thought to call me and let me know? What time did all this happen?”

Westin leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and offered a small shrug. “I’m not sure, mid-afternoon, maybe.”

My mouth literally dropped open. “And I repeat. Neither one of you felt that this was information I should have? Didn’t you know I was expecting Hawk to come pick me up at dusk? You told me that I couldn’t be guarded all night, remember?” I shook my head, my emotions roiling. Once again, I glared at Westin. “Well?” I finally demanded.

“Tracy, I didn’t even know what happened until Cutter told me just a little while ago.”

I wasn’t sure whether I believed him or not. Maybe this animosity between him and Hawk was truly at the root of this supposed miscommunication. I didn’t care about their history. What I did care about was my safety.

“Look, Detective Westin, I’ve already picked up on the fact that you and Hawk don’t get along—”

“My history with Hawk does not interfere with my job.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk, his hands folded on the desk blotter. “I want you to know that. If I’d known what happened to Hawk earlier this afternoon, I would’ve called you.” He paused. “Then again, my call wouldn’t have been answered, would it?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re using a burner phone, a throwaway phone, remember? It seems to me that information is a two-way street, isn’t it? Didn’t you think to let me or Detective Cutter know you weren’t using your personal phone? That Hawk had gotten you a throwaway? He didn’t notify us of that fact either.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. He was right. I hadn’t even thought to let the detectives know that I wasn’t using my personal phone or that Hawk had recommended it.

I felt dizzy, lightheaded. A headache pounded behind my eyes. God, what I needed right now was a couple of aspirin. I stared at Westin. He stared unblinking back at me. Stalemate. I mumbled an apology. “Look, Detective, I’m not trying to be difficult. But I’m going to be blunt. I’m scared. I’m scared to death. Now that Hawk’s in jail, I feel completely unprotected—”

“Detective Cutter and I are going to do everything we can to make sure that you’re safe,” Westin interrupted.

“How?” I asked, disbelieving. “Put me in a safe house? We already discussed that, remember?”

He blew out a breath. “Hawk will be bailed out first thing in the morning. I can get you set up in a safe house for tonight, but it’s going to take some time. Especially after the… the death of Officer Richardson, but we can swing it.”

Officer Richardson. I hadn’t even known his name. I felt tears burning in my eyes again. My stomach was turning somersaults. I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths and then looked at Westin. “I’m really sorry about what happened.” My voice cracked with emotion. “If I hadn’t been so stubborn, insisted… did he have a wife? A family?”

“Tracy—”

“Please tell me!” I yelled, on the verge of losing control. “Please, just tell me. Did he have a wife, family?”

Westin sighed. “He had a wife, Tracy. No children.”

Oh God. Only through intense concentration did I manage to stifle the grief and guilt that threatened to well up inside me. I took several more deep breaths and then once again looked at Westin, who stared at me with what I could only define as concern. Maybe it was concern. To be honest, I don’t think he liked me much.

“I know you can’t tell me much of anything, but can you tell me if you found anything, anything at all at the crime scene that might help to identify this guy?”

“We haven’t finished processing the evidence yet, but the simple answer is no.”

The simple answer. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it? There was no simple answer to this, to any of this. People were being murdered. I was being stalked… no, hunted. Why? Why were people around me dying? Was I caught at the edges of a whirlpool, a black hole of death and destruction caused by a serial killer, or was I the target and anyone around me perceived to be a threat had to be done away with?

I leaned my head back. And now this with Hawk? In jail? A bar fight? I heaved a shaky sigh. “So Hawk is in jail until the morning. What do you suggest I do?” I couldn’t even remember if I’d asked him that. I shut down my emotions and encouraged the numbness.

“It’s either a safe house, which may take a few hours to set up, or you stay here, or you go to a motel.”

I didn’t like any of those options. I certainly didn’t want to stay here, to have eyes looking at me, maybe even silently blaming me for Officer Richardson’s brutal murder. A safe house? Same thing. I wouldn’t fault any officer assigned to protect me for blaming me for the death of one of their own. I blamed myself. The weight of guilt sat heavily on my shoulders.

So a motel it was.

I knew which motel I was
not
going to, and that was the Tomahawk. I think I had seen another one at the opposite end of town, near Walmart. I moved as if to stand, but Westin stopped me.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I guess I’ll just go to a motel. I can’t think beyond that.”

“Will you let me know where you’re staying when you get there?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

I walked out of the police station like a zombie. My movements were mechanical, but with no rhyme or reason. I unlocked my truck door and climbed inside, automatically locking the door behind me. I made no move to put the key into the ignition. I stared out the windshield at the front of the police station, the lights inside casting a soft, warm glow into my section of the parking lot.

I felt cold inside. Cold and uncertain. Afraid. What was I going to do now? Could I go to a motel, afraid to sleep? Afraid that the stalker-killer would find me?

I finally shoved the key into the ignition, looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. It was close to midnight now. I was exhausted, like I’d been run over by a truck, but doubted that I would be able to sleep, at least not for more than a few minutes at a time.

In a daze, I backed out of the parking space and pulled away from the police station and turned left toward Walmart. I certainly couldn’t drive around all night. That didn’t seem safe either and would probably only be a waste of gas. It seemed as if I was right back where I started, the same place I had been on the night when I received the first note and that damned flower from whoever this bastard was.

I had nowhere to go.

Hawk was in jail… jail! As I drove I began to grow angry, then furious. How could he do this to me? How could he leave me to fend for myself? It wasn’t like I expected him to handcuff himself to me, but he certainly had left me feeling a lot more vulnerable than I expected. So what then? My P.I. was in jail. Did it really matter?

The stalker, the killer, whoever the hell he was, had managed to find me everywhere, even when I was around Hawk. While neither one of us had any control over what the bastard did, Hawk did nevertheless provide me with a sense of security. Perhaps that sense of security was nothing but a false one. The death of the police officer was the brutal truth of that. If the killer wanted me bad enough, he would find a way to get to me. He was toying with me.

If not, then he would have come into the house after he killed the cop. Better that I not risk anyone else’s life. So what to do? Go on the run? Before it hadn’t seemed like such a good idea. Now I wasn’t so sure.

Halfway to the Walmart at the end of town, I saw the sign for a park. Don’t ask me why, but I pulled into the lane, meandering my way along a circuitous route until I arrived at a large pond. I pulled underneath a pine tree along the curve of the path that wound its way around the dark pond, its surface glistening with moonlight.

I turned off my lights, then my engine. Under the hood, the engine made a couple of soft popping sounds as the motor cooled down. I gazed into the darkness nearby, didn’t see anything but the movement of ducks floating and paddling idly on the surface of the pond. An occasional quack. In the distance, I saw the dim outline of a basketball court. A covered pavilion for picnickers.