Rising Heat (91 page)

I pulled my thoughts away from the person, no, the scumbag, who had left the card and read further. Apparently, The Wheel of Fortune card had something to do with destiny and fate. So the card was a symbol for the forces of fate and destiny, and how everything in life was connected in a cycle, or circle of life.

But what did that mean? Why had the stalker left me that particular card? Did he mean to imply that my fate was determined? That my fate was sealed? According to the book, the Wheel of Fortune card meant that change was coming, and sooner rather than later. Whoever had written the book believed that the effect or the change that would occur depended on how much a person understood the concept of faith and whether or not it could be prepared for. How did you prepare for something you didn’t know was coming? I shook my head, growing frustrated.

Bottom line? The Wheel of Fortune card was a symbol of a serious if not dramatic change from the norm. Apparently, if things were going good, then the opposite would happen; that something difficult or bad might happen. If things were going bad, chances were that something good was just around the corner.

Well, that was a bunch of phooey. The author of the book said that it was impossible to change the implication behind the Wheel of Fortune card, so a person should just accept and live with it. I nearly laughed out loud when I read that if a crisis or something bad seemed inevitable, that the person was supposed to look for opportunity within it. Good times or bad, they wouldn’t last forever, and many events were just out of our control. So basically, the author was telling me that the Wheel of Fortune card meant you might as well just hang on and go along for the ride.

“What a bunch of crap,” I said, slamming the book shut.

“You shouldn’t do that to reference books.”

I nearly screamed at the sound of the male voice approaching from behind me. I spun around in my chair, clapping my hand to my mouth, my eyes wide when I saw Hawk approaching the small table. How had he found me here? I frowned. Since I’d seen him early this morning, the bruise around his right eye had grown even darker, a deeper purple than it had been earlier. The dried blood had been washed from the bridge of his nose and his lip, but both still looked red and painful.

My heart betrayed me and gave a little leap of excitement. Then reality once again took over. “What are you doing here?” I hissed. “How did you find me here?”

“I’ve been cruising around town, looking for you,” he said softly.

His eyes were riveted to mine as if daring me to challenge his presence. “I want you to go away,” I whispered as loud as I dared. He ignored me.

“I saw your truck parked in front of the library.” He said nothing for a moment, but continued to stare. “Is there some reason why you’re sitting here in the public library?”

“None of your damned business,” I snapped. I spoke louder than I should have and the reference librarian glanced my way with a disapproving look. I closed my eyes and sighed. Tried to ignore the feelings that I always got when I was around this man. He had let me down. I wasn’t going to let him forget it that easily. If that made me a bitch, then so be it. I was so disappointed.

He glanced at the books, reached for one and turned it so he could read the title on the binding. He lifted an eyebrow. “Tarot?”

I frowned again. “Why do you care about my choice in reading materials?” I knew I sounded snarky, but I didn’t care.

“Tracy, we need to talk—”

“No, Hawk, we don’t.”

I stood, leaving the books lying on the table. I knew I should put them back on the shelf where I’d gotten them, but I wanted to get out of there. Now. That second. I couldn’t stand to be this close to him and not react. I didn’t know whether to smile, to chew him out, to cry, or throw myself at him. I wanted to do all of those things. Just the sight of him had turned my stomach into a hard knot of desire, anger, and an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Without looking back, I quickly hurried out of the library, making my way toward my truck.

“Tracy, stop.”

I shoved the key into my door lock, opened the door, and turned to look at him over my shoulder. “I don’t have anything to say to you. In fact, I fired you, remember? Now stay away from me.”

I barely held onto my emotions while I climbed in, slammed the door, locked it, and then started the truck. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I pulled out of the parking space. Hawk watched me, standing with his legs shoulder width apart, arms crossed over his chest, muscles bulging, glowering at me.

I didn’t care. I didn’t! But as I pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the main street in town, I had a sinking feeling that I was only lying to myself. Still, I wasn’t feeling very generous, not after what happened last night. The death of the police officer. Having to experience that overwhelming fright, sleeping in a deserted park, and then waking up to find that damn tarot card.

I was pissed.

A second later, I felt bad. Should I turn around? Go back? And what? Listen to his excuses for disappearing? For letting me down? Oh, it wasn’t like I wasn’t able to forgive people, nothing like that, but last night had been extraordinary. This entire situation had been extraordinary. I had trusted Hawk. Maybe too much. Maybe that was my entire problem. Did I expect him to fix this?

How could he? How could anyone? The stalker-killer was careful. Smart. Always one step ahead of everybody else. He seemed to be able to anticipate my every move. How? And then an awful thought struck me. How many times had he done this? Stalked a woman? Gotten to know how most of them reacted…

I forced that thought away. I wasn’t sure if I could trust anyone, or if I should. People were dying because of me. The old lady. The cop. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. I didn’t want anyone else to die. Not Hawk, not anyone from his family, or another cop, not me. I felt alone. I felt hopeless.

I didn’t want to feel that way, but maybe unless it was happening to you, most people couldn’t quite grasp the fear that dealing with a stalker could elicit. Terror was just one of the many emotions I’d experienced last evening when I’d taken the thermos of coffee to that police officer. At the moment, and maybe not ever, I didn’t want to hear Hawk’s excuses about where he’d been while I was standing in front of the police cruiser, watching the blood drip everywhere. I didn’t want to hear why he’d gotten into a bar fight and thrown in jail. The result was the same.

He hadn’t been there. I had been left to fend for myself.

I came to the realization that nobody could keep me safe. I wasn’t trying to be a downer about it, just realistic. Whoever this killer was, he was smart. Über smart. He had ways of knowing things that nobody else did. I didn’t know how. It was just one piece of this puzzle that drove me crazy. Maybe if I could figure out how the stalker-killer knew my every move, I could do something to get a step ahead of him; find a way to stop him before he got tired of playing this game and killed me.

I drove through town, taking a turn here, a turn there, trying to find some place where I could park and think. Not only did I have to watch out for strangers, or suspicious characters, or cars that might be following me, now I had to watch out for Hawk too. He wasn’t going to leave me alone for long.

It wasn’t like I owed him any money. Yes, I did owe him a website, and I didn’t want to break my word, so I would give him his damn website when this was all done and over. If I was alive, that is. After giving him so much grief for not keeping his word, I certainly wasn’t going to back out on mine. But I had to survive first. I had to do something.

I wasn’t quite sure what that tarot card meant, or what the killer had meant by his last message to me. How in the world could I get inside the mind of someone as sick and twisted as a serial killer? How in the world, without a degree in forensic psychology, could I even begin to peel back the layers of a psychopathic mind?

I paused and thought about it.

Was
he a psychopath? He had to be. Could he be a sociopath instead? I shook my head. No, he was a psychopath. Weren’t most serial killers? And if I was going to try to fight this guy, I had to know, didn’t I?

Dammit, I needed some place where I could concentrate. Where I could focus, if only for a little while. Think! Was I dealing with a sociopath or psychopath? I tried to think back to my college psychology class. I knew that many people use both terms interchangeably, but there was a difference. An important difference. Each could share several commonalities, but there was a difference.

Both sociopaths and psychopaths could function in society, to a certain degree I remembered. Both were, at their root, unable to empathize or care about others. They could both be charming. The sociopath, although able to function in society, chose to sequester themselves away from it; they tended to be good liars, good at faking emotional connections and morals. While appearing sincere and trustworthy, sociopaths were often deceitful and conniving. Manipulative.

A psychopath was impulsive and often predatory, initiating attacks rather than reacting to confrontations. Psychopaths just didn’t care. They had no moral compass, no sense of right and wrong. Unfortunately, a sociopath and a psychopath felt pretty much the same way about doing bad things. They just didn’t care. Which made dealing with either a frightening thought.

Now that I focused on it, I had no doubt that the man stalking me was a psychopath. At times he seemed reckless, as if daring anyone to catch him. The notes and messages, the murders, especially the death of the police officer. It was like he had first been testing the waters, but now he was charging full steam ahead. Nothing was going to stop him.

But maybe I could do something about that. Maybe, if I planned carefully, I might be able to get away from him, if only for a few days. Give the police more of a chance to find him. Maybe if he got upset, lost track of me, he would make a mistake that would enable the police to catch him.

The thought made me nervous and more than a little frightened. But my mind was spinning, a plan forming. Reckless or not, I had to do something, didn’t I? I couldn’t just sit around and wait for the killer to finally get tired of toying with me and plunge a knife into my heart. No, if he was going to kill me, he would have to work for it. I was tired of playing the victim. Tired of just running, waiting, and looking over my shoulder.

My anger was growing. Not only against Hawk, but also the lack of progress the police had been making. I did have to admit that they were probably doing their best, but they were up against a seemingly invisible bastard who had effectively turned my life upside down.

I wanted it to end.

Not my life.

His.

*

Throughout the remainder of that day and into the early nighttime hours, I tried to effectively disappear among the coming and going pedestrians, drivers, and businesses in Seneca. I went to the mall, parked close to the front, and walked just behind a cluster of high schoolers who’d just gotten out of school, or so I thought. Once inside, I meandered from one shop to another. I was killing time, planning, thinking.

Oh, believe me, I was more than aware of everyone around me. So far, the hairs on my neck hadn’t stood up on end. I didn’t get that funny feeling that anyone was following me, or watching me.

Maybe I was enjoying a bit of a reprieve. I meandered my way to the lingerie department at the local JCPenney. Even ventured into the home goods section and saw only women. Typical.

I made my way around the food court, watching the people sitting at the tables, all ages just eating, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company.

I went into a phone store and bought another throwaway phone and a card with sixty minutes on it. Once that was done, I went into the bathroom and into a stall. I pulled the throwaway phone Hawk had bought me from my pocket, removed the back, pulled out the battery and the chip and stepped out of the stall. Once I was sure the bathroom was empty, I dumped each part of the phone into a different wastebasket, covering the pieces with paper towels.

I think I wasted a couple of hours in the mall before I got into my truck and drove away again. I stopped at a local pet store, meandered through the place trying to avoid the gaze of the puppies and the kittens, mainly just wandering around, trying to determine if someone specific seemed familiar. Every time I got into or out of my truck, I looked around, trying to determine if I recognized any of the vehicles I saw or the faces around me. So far, so good.

I did that for the rest of the afternoon, stopping to fill up my tank with gas once. At one point, I got brave and decided to go by my house and grab a few things to cram into a backpack, including my migraine medicine, and anything else I thought I might need for the next couple of days. But when I drove by my house, the crime scene tape was still dangling across my driveway, attached to a tree at one end, the mailbox at the other. The sight of it sobered me and brought tears to my eyes. I drove on by, then took a roundabout back toward town. I didn’t enter the town proper, but took the loop around Main Street that the truckers were supposed to take.

Maybe tomorrow the crime scene tape would be gone. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t wait until tomorrow. Maybe tonight I would drive close to my house, park just inside the tree line, and make my way through the darkness to my house. I could quickly pack. The thought scared the crap out of me, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was turning into a night crawler. Was that my destiny? To hide during the day, to come out only at night, where I could easily disappear into the shadows?

As day turned to dusk and then to full darkness, I contemplated my plan. I needed to find a place to stay for the night, but I certainly wasn’t going to stay at a motel. In fact, I thought I had the perfect place. I drove to the local airport and pulled into the long-term parking lot. I turned off my engine and then watched for anyone entering the lot after me. It was dark and quiet. I watched for fifteen minutes, then twenty, then thirty. No one had followed me here.