Silver Falls (8 page)

“You don't swear? What kind of Mormon are you?” He'd risen himself, taller than she was, dangerous though she wasn't quite sure why.

“I promised I'd stop saying
fuck
,” she said. “It's an ugly word.”

“It's a great word in the right circumstances. It can, for instance, indicate a very enjoyable way to spend an afternoon. I suppose you promised my brother? He's an English professor—he should understand.”

“It's overused.”

“That doesn't mean it doesn't have its place.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ!”
Rachel exploded. “Are you always this much of a pain in the ass?”

“Why do you suppose they drove me out of town?” he replied. “Oh, sorry, that was answering a question with a question.” He moved closer, and she decided to stand her ground. A mistake.

“Yes,” he said, so close she could practically touch him. “Yes, I'm always such a pain in the ass, yes, I actually do want you, and as for what I've got against my brother, it would take too long to tell you and you wouldn't believe me.”

“Try me,” she said. Big mistake.

“I was waiting for the offer.” He moved so fast she didn't have time to react. He cupped her face, pulling her closer, and kissed her.

Her arms were free to fight him, and she punched him in the stomach, but he didn't flinch, merely moved closer, one arm imprisoning her, trapping her hands between their bodies. “I'm just trying to prove my point,” he murmured, and kissed her again, his mouth hard on hers.

She clamped her jaw together, freezing, since he had her in too strong a hold to shove him away. His hand cupped her neck, his fingers brushing against the side of her face, a calming, gentle touch that slowly began to leach the fury from her body. She could feel his heart beat through the layers
of clothing that separated them, and her own heart beat a counterpoint to his. He lifted his head, looking down at her stubborn face. “Kiss me back and I'll let you go,” he said softly.

“Fuck off.”

He kissed her anyway, and she remained stonily still, as his other hand trailed up her back to the perfect, sensitive spot just beneath her shoulder blades, and she felt her treacherous body soften.

Oh, the hell with it.
She kissed him back. She opened her mouth, slid her arms around his waist, pulling him closer still, and kissed him, with all the hunger and need that had been locked in her body for months, years. She kissed him because she couldn't have him, kissed him because he showed up too late, kissed him until she felt his cock swell against her belly and the fierce need became his own as well.

And then she shoved him away, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of the flannel shirt, his flannel shirt, and said, “Ready to drive me home?”

He looked shocked, which was a triumph in itself. “Where did that come from?”

She wished she could come up with a snappy answer. From her inner Barbie, from her repressed romantic side, from her self-destructive nature. Instead she shrugged. “I just thought I'd give you a taste of what you're missing.”

He was still staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time, which he probably was. Up until now she was part of some game-playing agenda, and an unsavory one at that. She had no idea what he was trying to prove, but she wasn't about to play.

“You can drive me home or I'll take your car,” she said in her most practical voice. He'd have no idea that beneath her blasé exterior her heart was pounding, her palms were damp and she was more turned on than she had been in fourteen years. Not since Sophie's father. Of course he had ditched her once he found out she was pregnant and she'd been on her own. She ought to know better.

She crossed her arms, partly to hide the trembling, and arched an eyebrow. “Sooner rather than later would be good,” she said in an even tone.

He moved then, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her again. She wasn't sure what she'd do if he did, but at the last minute he seemed to think better of it. “I'll get my keys,” he said, his voice equally expressionless.

They went down the outer steps in silence. The rain was coming down harder now, and the rough wood was slick enough that she held on to the rickety railing, being careful to avoid the weak step as she went. He moved past her, around the back of the foundation, and she followed him, only
to come face-to-face with the most ramshackle, ancient Jeep she'd ever seen.

“I thought you had a rental car that you didn't want to get muddy,” she said, glaring at him.

“I lied. The doors don't work—you'll have to climb in over the side.”

Great,
she thought. His baggy pants were too tight on her generous butt, and she'd probably split them as she scrambled into the car. Tossing her own clothes in back, she reached for the top of the door, ready to hoist herself in, when she felt his hands on her waist, lifting her, swinging her over into the front seat of the Jeep.

It happened so fast she didn't have time to pro test. She landed in a heap, righting herself before he climbed in the driver's side with insulting ease.

“No seat belts,” he said. “If we start going off the road you'll have to hold on to me.”

“Yeah, right.” She glanced at her watch. Twenty to three, and they were three-quarters of the way up Silver Mountain. “You wanna step on it? I don't want to be late.”

The Jeep started forward with a leap, tossing her back against the seat. A moment later they were careening down the narrow dirt road at breakneck speeds and she was clutching the cracked leather of the seat, holding on for dear life and
trying to remember some kind of prayer to ward off certain death.

They all escaped her—she was stuck with muttering “oh God oh God oh God” beneath her breath. Caleb was having too much fun, taking the switchback curves with abandon, and she wondered what the hell Sophie would do if she was left without a mother and no legal tie to David.

Caleb glanced at her every few moments, waiting to see her reaction, but she gritted her teeth and said nothing. By the time they reached her parked car, she was ready to scream, and when he slammed to a stop he turned and looked at her.

“Fast enough for you?”

Hitting him again wouldn't be a good idea—it would give him an excuse to touch her and she still hadn't recovered from their kiss. “Fine, thank you.” She slung one leg over the side of the door, planning to use the back of the seat for leverage, when he put his hands on her butt and shoved.

She landed on her feet, a good thing, because another car had just pulled up beside hers. A black BMW, with David behind the wheel.

“Oh, fuck,” Rachel whispered.

“Watch your language, Mrs. Middleton,” Caleb cautioned. “You don't want him to know you feel guilty.”

She turned on him. “I don't! I don't have anything to feel guilty for.”

“Except kissing me.” He looked up. “Hey, David,” he said in a louder voice. “I'm returning your wife. Reluctantly, I must admit. She got caught up at the falls.”

She expected David's usual look of sad disappointment as he climbed out of the car, but oddly enough he looked quite sunny. “What were you doing up there, Rachel? It's a rotten day for hiking. Don't tell me you're as morbid as the rest of this town.”

“I'd never seen the falls, and I was hoping to get some pictures. But you're right—a rotten day. I slipped in the mud and almost went over. Fortunately Caleb was there to catch me.”

“Fortunate indeed,” David said. “I was worried when you didn't come home. Sophie's school closed early and I thought I'd better make sure you got the message. Clearly you didn't.”

All thought of Caleb and guilt vanished in her sudden panic. “Where is she? What happened? Is she all right?”

“Of course she is. She went home with Kristen—if she's not safe in the home of the police chief I don't know where she would be. I'm afraid they've found another body.”

The air around them suddenly seemed to freeze,
like a slow-motion horror movie, and it felt like someone punched her in the chest, hard. “Who?” she managed to choke out.

“They don't know—apparently she'd been dead for a while. They found her body downriver, but Chief Bannister says they're thinking she may have gone over the falls as well.” He looked past at her at Caleb, an odd expression playing around his mouth. “Have you seen anyone up there the last day or so, Caleb? Anyone suspicious?”

“No.” The word was short, sharp, and she glanced back at Caleb. He looked stricken, guilty, an odd expression for him, a far cry from his usual mockery. A moment later that expression was gone, and he shrugged. “Not a safe town for young women, is it? I think your wife and her daughter should take a nice long vacation until Maggie Bannister finds out who's doing this.”

David's eyebrows snapped together. “Don't be ridiculous, Caleb. There's evil everywhere, and you, more than anyone, would know it. They stay here, where I can protect them.”

“I'll be the one who decides where I stay!” Rachel snapped. “You two can argue all you want—I'm going to get my daughter.”

David moved in front of her. “Rachel, she's fine—” he began, but she shoved past him, heading for her Volvo. He said something else, but she
didn't listen, she simply jumped in the car and sped off, one thing and one thing only on her mind. She had to find her baby and make certain she was safe. And then, if she had even an ounce of brain left her in head, they were getting the hell out of town.

C
aleb looked into his baby brother's guileless, pale blue eyes and just managed to meet his smile. “I didn't touch her, I swear.”

“Of course you didn't, Caleb. I trust you with my life.” There was no edge to the simple statement, no malice or hidden subtext. “It's just that you're so damned romantic, and always have been. The bad boy always gets the girl.” His smile was disarming. “But Rachel's got a good head on her shoulders. I'm sure even if you do your best to tempt her she'll be able to resist. She doesn't have much of a sexual appetite.”

“Do you think I wouldn't consider that a challenge?”

“You and I both know you'd never go out of your way to take what's mine. The problem is it comes to you naturally. Every girl I ever liked was head-over-heels in love with you. Even that stupid mutt I found liked you better than me.”

“I remember,” Caleb said softly.

David looked sorrowful. “Such a sad, sad day. Who in the world could have done such a thing to a poor, helpless animal, no matter how stupid he was.” He gave a small shudder of distress. “I just don't understand human nature, Caleb. Do you?”

Caleb didn't blink. It had been twenty-six years since he'd found the only dog he'd ever owned hanging from a tree down by the river. He'd had enough time to get over it. The knot of grief was familiar, even welcome. “I think I understand it better than you think, David.”

He hadn't expected his words to rattle his brother, and they didn't. “Even my own mother preferred you, ridiculous as that is. She gave birth to me—you should have been less important to her.”

“David, she loved you.”

David smiled sweetly. “Of course she did. And I loved her. She just didn't love me enough.”

Caleb felt the grief come again, tinged with the old anger, but he squashed it down. To do what he came to do he'd have to be cool and collected, as cool as his brother was. “Did you want to talk to me about something, David? You could come up back to the house…”

“That monstrosity? No, thank you. I just wanted to make sure my wife was all right. And that she heard about the body they found.”

“And why is that?”

David blinked. “So she'll be careful, of course. Because just when you think you have all the answers, you find out you're quite wrong.”

“He's changing his style, isn't he?” Caleb leaned back against his Jeep. “He never used to kill so close together. There was always at least a year between each death. And he never killed twice in the same place. He's getting sloppy.”

“Yes, he is,” David agreed, as calm and measured as always. “But who can guess what's in the mind of a sociopath?”

“You think that's it? He's a sociopath?”

“I've done a great deal of research on the matter, and that's the only conclusion I could come up with. He's simply without conscience. How else could he commit such atrocities?” David moved back to his car, a wistful expression on his face. “Do keep away from Rachel, won't you? I'd hate to see anything happen to her.”

It took all Caleb's self-control not to lunge for his brother's car. But he'd spent years in war zones, or even worse, newsrooms, and he knew how to bluff and to watch his ass.

“You have my word on it, David,” Caleb said, as the rain began to sprinkle down once more. “No one's going to hurt Rachel or her daughter. No one.”

David simply smiled. “Come for dinner tonight.
We need to spend time together, and this way it'll keep her mind off the new murder.”

“So we can be like a normal, happy family?”

“We are a normal, happy family, Caleb. Haven't you noticed? All we needed was for you to come home again. And you did.”

“If you say so,” Caleb said. “What makes you think Rachel wants anything to do with me? Maybe she has other plans.”

David shook his head. “Rachel wants whatever I want. And she would never leave. She knows it would distress me, and she has very fond feelings for me. And besides, if she left I'd simply go with her.”

Caleb should have expected it, but the ice at the pit of his stomach was like a lump. “Stay here with me, David,” he said, suddenly urgent. “We can fight this together. We can stop this.”

David shook his head, stepping back into his car. “Too late, big brother. Years too late. Come to dinner. I don't think Sophie will be there—my wife doesn't trust you around her. Which is silly—you never liked the young, innocent ones.” There was a pause. “I do.”

He gave his brother an angelic smile. “We'll see you about seven.” And he pulled out into the road, heading off at his usual, decorous pace.

Caleb stood motionless, watching his brother drive away. When he realized belatedly that his
hand was clenched in a fist, and he consciously relaxed it, taking a deep, calming breath. He'd waited too long, turned his back on the truth for too many years. There was blood on his hands, blood on his conscience.

Because he'd left.

But that time was past. He'd meant it—no one else was going to be hurt. No one. The only kind of penance he could pay was to keep it from happening again.

And he would. No matter how bloody the price.

 

David Middleton whistled a tuneless little song beneath his breath as he drove back into town, a feeling of well-being coursing through his body. He'd felt much better since he'd given up eating meat—a body free from animal pollutants was much more attuned to the dark beauty of life.

He glanced in his rearview mirror. Caleb was still standing there, and David knew he should feel sorrow and regret. Caleb so wanted to help.

But Caleb didn't understand that his baby brother didn't need help. He wasn't delusional, or even terribly dangerous. He did what he had to do, what gave him pleasure, and he was very, very careful. He never hurt them if he could help it—fast and efficient was his code and his pride.

Caleb wouldn't understand his fascination. Nor
would he appreciate that he never had sex with them until they were already dead. He considered it quite kind of him—he'd studied enough to know that the most exquisite pleasure would be at the point of death, not afterward. But he spared them that. Just a few moments of blind panic, and then it was over for them. And then he could enjoy himself.

He always came at them from the back. He'd tried it once, strangling her while he was facing her, and it had been quite unsettling. So much so, that he hadn't been able to have sex. In the end, though, that had been a blessing. No one connected that death with the other victims of the serial killer who preyed on young women.

The one thing that bothered him was that they hadn't come up with a proper name for him. The Green River Killer, the Hillside Strangler, the Zodiac Killer. All of those had a certain ring to them.

Then again, Ted Bundy had never had any particular name, and he was the best of the best. And despite the commonly held belief that Bundy was brilliant, in fact, his IQ was a pathetic 124. If a man of middling intelligence could get away with his hobby for such a long time then David, with his own far more impressive 140, should have no trouble at all.

He whistled as he drove through the soft mist, watching it swirl across the rain-dark road like a
woman's long flow of hair. His older brother thought he'd made a mistake, but he'd always known exactly what he was doing. Even his recent overeagerness, his increased appetites, all played into a master plan. It was always foolish to underestimate him. They all had over the years. It worked to his advantage so well that it no longer offended him. Things were unfolding just as he had ordained, and by the time Caleb realized he'd been set up it would be too late.

He switched on the radio. The college station was playing the Mozart requiem, presumably in honor of the latest victim, a decomposed body found floating downstream from the falls. He whistled along as he drove, at peace with the world.

 

The sound of the police siren broke through Rachel's panic, and she took her foot off the gas pedal, slowing to a guilty stop, cursing beneath her breath. All she could think about was getting to Sophie—she must have been going sixty in a thirty-mile-an-hour speed zone. She clutched the steering wheel tightly, knowing the drill, only to look up to meet Maggie Bannister's stern face.

“Do you know how fast—?”

“Oh, shit, Maggie! Where's Sophie? And what the hell are you doing making traffic stops when there's been a second murder?”

Maggie grimaced. “Sophie's fine. You don't think I'd let her be in any danger, do you? She and Kristen are both at the station, playing on their computers. It's you I'm worried about. I knew you'd panic, given your history. And considering how fast you were driving…”

“Oh,
fuck
my driving. I need to see Sophie.”

“I told you, she's fine,” Maggie said grimly. “She knows you're coming for her, and she's taking all this mess a hell of a lot more calmly than you are. I should have your ass for speeding.”

“Screw that.”

“I can't do that. This is my new job.”

“What?”

“Second dead body. Presumably another murder, though we won't know for certain until the autopsy. But it ties in with the killings in other parts of the country. So far we have the FBI coming in and taking over, treating me like a secretary, so chances are we've got bigger fish as well. There have even been suspicious cases outside the country.”

Rachel stared at her, her mouth dry, her heart racing. “So they think this is a full-blown serial killer?”

Maggie nodded. “Which is good news. It means that it's a stranger, not anyone we know. Some FBI asshole named Johnson has taken over the case, and he's not interested in my opinions—I'm on traffic duty until they decide the killer's moved on.”

“How do we know that? David said a new girl had just been found.”

“David told you that, did he? And where were you when he passed on that information?” Maggie said in her brusque, even voice.

Rachel stared at her. “Does it matter?”

Maggie was a master of implacability. “I'm curious about everything. I may be off the case but that doesn't mean I'm letting go. This is my town, my people, and I'm looking out for them.”

“But you can't think David had anything to do with it?”

“I told you, I'm just curious. I want to see how the news spreads. David told you, and then you told…anyone?”

“I had just come down the mountain from his brother's house. He told us both, and then I took off.” She tried to tell herself that didn't sound damning.

“You mind me asking, as a friend, what you were doing with our local bad boy? Caleb's not the kind of man young wives should hang around with. Particularly if they're married to his brother. Those two had a rivalry going on that would put World War Two to shame. Any fool could see that it was mainly one-sided. One brother just couldn't stand it when the other one got attention.”

“It's no big deal. I'd climbed up the falls and I
didn't have time to get back down without catching a ride. Fortunately Caleb was up there. Whose side?”

“Huh? Oh, who was the competitive one? I think I'll leave you time to figure it out. If I were you I wouldn't jump to any conclusions.” She took a step back. “You know, I ought to give you one hell of a ticket, but I figure you've got extenuating circumstances. Just don't do it again.” Maggie's voice was stern.

“Yes, ma'am. Do you want me to bring Kristen with us when I pick up Sophie?”

For a moment Maggie hesitated. “Sure,” she said finally. “Just keep a close eye on them. If this is the same man who's killed young women all through the Northwest then presumably he's long gone. But you can't be too careful.”

“How could he be long gone if there's a new body?”

“She'd been dead for a while, though she only recently hit the water. We're not even sure who she is. If the FBI knows, they're not telling. I don't know where she's been stashed all this time but she sure didn't smell pretty.”

“Oh, God,” Rachel said faintly.

“Yeah.” Maggie's voice was grim. “I'll be by as soon as I get off work. Just don't leave them alone. You stay with them, okay?”

“Okay,” Rachel said. “I'll feed them dinner.”

“I get off at five—I can pick her up then. And why don't you let me take Sophie back with me? You know how good they are together. They can give each other support.”

“I couldn't ask that of you.”

“I'm offering. In fact, I'm insisting. Kristen's a bit of a drama queen, and Sophie calms her down. So don't you worry about dinner. I'll get pizza and we'll watch some dumb teenage comedy and everything will be fine.” Maggie's eyes narrowed. “I'm worried about you. I think you need a break without having to worry about Sophie.”