Facade

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A twig snapped. His head turned toward the sound. He caught sight of Shar’s black trench coat as she ducked behind a thick pine. KC ran through the woods, jumping over downed limbs and dense weeds. Just as he nearly grasped a handful of material, she ran in another direction. KC sped after her, finally fisting her coat and halting her progress, pulling her flush against his chest. He could feel her body tremble with each large gulp of air. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his cheek nestling against her riot of curls. Breathing deeply, her sweet musk scent encompassed him and took hold of his gut. He hadn’t even realized how much this woman had become a part of him. His next breath seemed to depend on hers. Aside from Shar’s time in college, a day hadn’t gone by in the last fifteen years that hadn’t been brightened by her smile and presence. Even as a little girl of nine, she had charmed him beyond measure with her girlish pranks. He had protected her like a brother, cared for her like a father. But today, he felt anything but fraternal. His erection lay trapped between them, begging for appeasement. And damn if he didn’t want to appease it.

PRAISE FOR FACADE Winner Word Weaving Award For Literary Excellence! Honorable Mention “Favorite Mystery/Suspense” Dorothy Parker Award of Excellence 2001! Finalist Spectrum Award 2001 “Best Cover Art”!

“4 1/2 stars…Secrets, lies, obsessions, murder…and revenge. What could possibly trigger such horrendous violence, especially in sleepy, rural McCreary County in Kentucky? In this compelling, quick read, K.C. and Shar search the past for clues to current murders as they find a way to move beyond their individual pain to build an enduring future together.” —Deborah Brent Romantic Times “5 Stars…Rasey grows more and more adept in intricately weaving a complex, layered plot with flawed, yet lovable characters and a love story that will melt your heart…By far the best work Rasey has written to date. Not only is this book overflowing with heart-pounding suspense and fascinating details of police forensics, but also gruesome

minutiae of sadistic murder. And the love scenes are so scorchingly hot that they'll melt the paint off the walls. The intensity of her approach to her latest prose matches that of Diehl and Harris, so the squemish beware. The pacing is fast and the writing is perfect. Not one word is wasted nor a moment dull. Thriller devotees will be up all night, as I was, riveted to this page-turner. Pat Rasey demonstrates yet again, why she’s become an author to reckon with.” —Janice K. Wagner Royal Scribe Reviews “Very Highly recommended…A heart-stopping, adrenaline-pumping novel that you dare not start at bedtime if you intend to be up in the morning. Addictive from the first shocking page, Facade will reveal the dangers that lurk beneath the most innocent appearances. Rasey has an extraordinary talent for creating characters with depth and complexity, while weaving a quick-moving plot that lures the reader into a world of murder and intrigue. Extraordinarily, Rasey can capture the essence of a brutal murder all the while maintaining a sexy, lusty subplot with sharp quips counterbalanced by grace. While all of Rasey’s novels are hits, this is the best one yet, earning a very highly recommended rating and an Award of Excellence from WordWeaving.” —Cindy Penn Word Weaving “…A taut, intricate and lushly crafted thriller that excels in every facet of its creation. Characterization is multifaceted, complete and vivid. K.C. and Sharalee haunted me when I reluctantly had to put the book down for a few moments! The plotting is exemplary and compares favorably to anything else on the bookshelves. I challenge you to read

this one slowly! With a mystery that just won’t quit and a couple to last a lifetime, Patricia Rasey’s Facade is a masterpiece!” —Jon Taylor Scribes Word Reviews “Patricia A. Rasey is a Master Manipulator! She manipulates her story in such a way that the villain could be any number of people. The reader is kept in the throes of suspense until the very last few pages. This book had me clicking the buttons on my Rocket so quickly that the pages practically became a blur. I was on the edge of my seat biting my nails through this whole intriguing book. As with all of Pat’s books, the ending came as quite a surprise! I avidly look forward to Pat’s next book if my heart can take it.” —Kathy Boswell Kathy’s Book Reviews “Ms. Rasey has another winner here. A spine-tingling murder mystery that will leave you gasping; a love story that will leave you breathless. A must read for its chilling account of the murders, the investigation, and the lies that spawned it. A definite keeper for its warm, passionate romance, and the story of two hearts unwilling to be denied.” —Shadoe Simmons All About Murder Reviews “5 Stars…Patricia Rasey has penned an outstanding book! Facade is a spine-tingling read from start to finish with equal parts murder and romance. Ms. Rasey leads you to believe you know who the killer is, and then yanks your chain, and swings you in a whole other direction! You’ll find yourself wondering who will be the next victim and in what

atrocious way are they going to be murdered. The biggest mystery will be why?! You not only get a murder mystery in Facade, but you also get a lot of great sexual tension between KC and Sharalee, that builds to its climactic explosion right along with the murder and mayhem. I highly recommend Facade to anyone who loves a good murder mystery. This is one book that will keep you guessing. If you are clever enough to figure out who did it, you still won’t believe what you get hit in the face with at the end!” —Stacey Bucholz All About Murder Reviews

ALSO BY PATRICIA A. RASEY Deadly Obsession Eyes Of Betrayal The Hour Before Dawn Kiss Of Deceit With Authors Charlotte Boyett-Compo & Kate Hill Twilight Obsessions

FACADE BY PATRICIA A. RASEY

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

FACADE AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC P.O. Box 50251 Bellevue, Washington 98015 All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2002 by Patricia A. Rasey ISBN 1-59279-024-0 Cover Art © 2002 Trace Edward Zaber Rating: R Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To my friends who allowed me to lean on them in my times of rejections—not to mention listened to me drone on about my plots: Barb Auzins, Denise Abel, Becky Heath, Marlene Kieffer, Bev Schwab, Rose Slominski, and Cheri Westrick. Life would be so dull without you. And as always, to my rock and my best friend, Mark, who I could not have done it without. You have my eternal love, now and forever. Thank you for loving me unconditionally. To my Savior, Jesus Christ.

In Loving Memory… To Marilean Schwab, who never failed to believe in me and knew one day I would make it. My regret is in that she never got to see the day. Sleep with angels, Aunt Mary.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Though Pine Knot, Kentucky does indeed exist, most places in this story are fictional as I take creative license over the telling of it. I’d like to extend a special thank you to Sue Baldwin, who took time from her busy schedule to enlighten me on the job of victim’s advocate. And also to Shadoe Simmons and Julia Jones. Any mistakes are my own, and are in no way the fault of those who lent me their hand. Thanks also to my editor, Trace Edward Zaber, who listened to me countless times via e-mails, or on the phone, and gave me direction, patiently waiting for the manuscript as I kept promising it next week. Thanks so much for your support and talent.

FACADE

CHAPTER 1

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” The air left his chest with a mighty whoosh. All sounds ceased to exist as blood pounded mercilessly in his ears. My God, he could not believe his eyes as sun poured through the leaves. Tiny rays created a ring of light. A halo. There certainly was no other way to describe it. A hazy illumination lit the victim’s head, big as Christ. But this was no Christ, nor was His hand at work here. No—Satan had lent his touch to this one. Deputy Detective KC Tanner stayed the urge to wretch as he stared upon the figure nailed to the make-shift wooden cross, green flies buzzing the head; maggots crawled about the nose, eyes, and ears. The stench sent two accompanying deputies to their knees, emptying whatever remained of lunch behind a tall evergreen. Fixed lividity darkened the victim’s mangled legs, obviously broken, and the body hung limp from the cross, held fast by three 1

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square-headed nails: one through each wrist and one through the arch of the feet as the left foot overlapped the right. Big gaping holes remained, stretched grotesquely from the weight of the body as gravity pulled it steadily downward, but the ropes binding his wrists and feet held him to the cross. Dried brownishcrimson trails lined the feet and hands as though pointing toward the pool now soaked into the rich soil at his feet. Duct tape had been used to silence his screams—though none would have been heard, not this far from civilization. His crime had been nailed behind his head; one word, painted in bold black letters across a white cardboard: ADULTERY. Mike MacArthur, Mac to his friends, stood beside KC, hands deep in his pockets, rocking back on the heels of his worn boots, an everpresent wad of chewing tobacco stuck in his left cheek. He spit a stream of brown goo just beyond where they stood. Mac had been Sheriff of McCreary County going on seven years. He and KC had worked side by side for fifteen, first as partners. Now Mac’s title made him KC’s boss, while KC was McCreary County’s only homicide detective. “Well, what do you think?” Mac finally asked, his eyes still fixated on the cross, though his gaze seemed more to go right through the hideous sight and land some twenty yards beyond. A chill settled. KC knew it was not about to abate, not until they found the cold-hearted bastard capable of crucifying a man. A shiver shook his spine. He could not begin to imagine what poor George Stanton—bloated and vaguely recognizable due to the decomposition that had already set in—had gone through before he finally died. Of course, the standard DNA and dental records would be done to prove the victim’s identity, but KC was pretty certain who hung before him. The man had been missing for seven days. His small Stop ’n’ Shop in the center of Pine Knot had been closed since Friday, when he had last been spotted locking up. Since then, no one had seen George and 2

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the sheriff’s office had little luck in locating him—until now. KC rubbed a cold hand down his coarse whiskered cheek as he stared at what remained of the man’s eyes. Eye sockets. Good Lord, the birds had had their feast. “I think it’s safe to say somebody was mighty pissed off at ol’ George.” KC’s chuckle rang hollow. Mac turned his gaze on KC, narrowing it. “You think this is the work of one person?” KC shrugged as he watched the deputies, now back on their feet, wrap yellow crime-scene tape around the surrounding area. Neither of the deputies’ complexion looked too healthy at the moment as though the slightest provocation would send them back to their knees. KC pointed to the rope secured at the top of the cross and slung over a low branch. Its untied end lay coiled atop a soft bed of pine needles like the shed skin of a snake. “It’s possible that end was tied to something, maybe the bumper of a truck. If the cross lay on the ground with George attached—a vehicle could have easily lifted it with that rope slung over the branch and dropped it in a pre-dug hole.” Mac nodded slowly. “Then one person could have certainly done the job. But the question is, how do you get a grown man to lie still while you bind him and drive huge nails through his wrists? A man of George Stanton’s size—it would take several to hold him down.” Running a hand through his hair, KC wondered the same thing. Ol’ George wouldn’t have gone easily. And even someone the size of Mac at six-foot-three, weighing in at two-forty, could not possibly hold George still while he wrapped each wrist with rope and drove a nineinch nail through it. “I don’t know what to think,” KC answered truthfully, with a shake of his head. “In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it.” “Down here in McCreary County, you ain’t likely to see it again.” “How long you think he’s been hanging there?” 3

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“By the smell of him—at least a week.” “And if it wasn’t for Alice Hughes hiking through the woods and wandering off the trail, he might have hung here a while longer.” Mac pursed his lips and sighed. “Poor girl. She’s likely to have nightmares for months over this, maybe years. She’s damn lucky she didn’t get lost wandering around out here.” “I don’t think she was out here alone.” Mac, his prominent brows knit closely together, looked at KC adding nothing, just waiting for him to continue. He shifted the pinch of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other before spitting again. “Come on, Mac,” KC said, his normal deep tone rising a notch, “you think a sixteen-year-old would be wandering in the forest alone? She was probably with someone she had no business being with…possibly out having a little poke in the woods. Obviously, she wouldn’t be too hip on the idea of telling the County Deputies what she was really up to out here.” “Either way, she needs to be bent over someone’s knee, by George,” Mac said, which had both their gazes flitting back to the man on the cross. Mac quickly crossed himself. “Maybe we ought to call a priest or something.” “More like a coroner,” KC said. “It’s not like any minister’s going to be of any help to him now.” “I already radioed Doc Johnson. Someone’s bringing him out in a four-by-four. Should be here any minute.” KC absently fingered the slender scar beside his left eye, a reminder of how lucky he was to be alive. If it had not been for Mac, he probably wouldn’t be. “Well, I guess I’ll get to work.” Leaving Mac standing at the base of the cross, KC trekked back to his black Blazer, emblazoned with the Sheriff’s shield on the front doors. In this county, most back roads required four-wheel-drives to get 4

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through them. He lifted the window on the back and extracted several kits, placing them on the ground behind the SUV. Taking a black notepad and pencil from one of the boxes, he walked back to the scene, ducking beneath the yellow “POLICE LINE—DO NOT CROSS” tape. Mac scanned the cordoned area, gently moving the weeds and pine needles with the toe of his boot as KC made a sketch of the scene, measuring and triangulating the position of the cross and the body. Deputy Bob Miller, wielding a .35-millimeter camera, snapped pictures. He took most of the crime-scene photos for the county, since one of his minors in college and his passions in life was photography. KC had to admit, the man had talent. Some of his photos had taken first place in area county fairs. KC couldn’t help wondering how Bob’s crime-scene photos might do at those competitions. Probably scare the dickens out of the average citizen, he thought with a chuckle. McCreary County wasn’t ready for an art exhibit of that kind; not with ol’ George as the main attraction. Finished with his sketches, KC returned to the Blazer for a bucket, distilled water, and a white milk carton containing dental mold. Noting deeply embedded tire tracks on the other side of the cross, KC would bet his earlier assessment correct—a truck had been used to hoist the cross. He walked to the spot and set up a special camera on a base that took photos of tireprints and shoeprints from directly overhead. KC grabbed a twelve-inch ruler and laid it beside the tire print, then snapped the shot. Picture taken, he knelt beside the disturbed pine needles, then added the water to the dental mold powder. Using hair spray as a fixative in the indentation, KC then poured the thin compound into the track, using the stir stick as a diffuser so as not to disturb the marks left behind. Finished, KC cut a length of screening and added it to the top to strengthen the cast. He then placed small samples of soil in a paper envelope and tagged it as evidence. 5

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Mac caught his attention as he bent to extract something from beneath the cover of dry needles and weeds. A silver chain glinted in the meager sunlight, filtering through the branches. A small oval medallion suspended from it. “A medal of some sort?” KC asked, his nerve endings raw with excitement. Mac jumped, clearly oblivious to KC’s approach. The chain with its ornament swung like a pendulum and almost fell to the ground. “Looks like a St. Christopher,” Mac replied. “Think it belongs to whoever did this?” Mac shrugged as he removed a plastic Ziploc from his pocket and dropped the necklace inside. KC reached for the bag as a blue pickup pulled into the clearing beside the deputies’ SUV. Mac placed the bag in his pocket and headed for the vehicle, leaving KC behind. Doc Johnson leapt from the cab, like someone more in his thirties than late fifties. Like part of a morning ritual, KC, headed into Whitley City on his way to the sheriff’s office, always passed Doc in a pair of sweats and Nikes, running his usual ten miles. Mac extended his hand, which the coroner shook cordially. “What we got here, Mac?” he asked, pulling his black bag from the seat of the truck. “It ain’t pretty. Look’s like we found ol’ George Stanton. He was hanging out all right, just like we figured. Problem is, don’t look like he’s gonna be opening the ol’ Stop ’n’ Shop any time soon.” Doc glanced past Mac’s shoulder, to a spot just beyond KC. His eyes widened when his gaze landed on the object of their conversation. “For the love of Mike,” he muttered. “What the hell happened?” Mac placed a hand on Doc’s shoulder and led him to the base of the cross. Doc’s nose twitched at the smell. His body quivered. Doc was the coroner all right, used to examining the dead. But in McCreary County, he had limited experience in finding week-long deceased bodies. Doc looked ready to add to the mess left behind the 6

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evergreen by the two deputies. “Well, that’s the thing, Doc,” Mac said, heartily patting him on the back, “we’re hoping you could tell us.” Doc vigorously scratched the area of his throat, just below the ear. “He’s dead all right. What else do you want to know?” KC walked to the two, placing a fist on each hip. “How about starting with time of death.” “Well”—Doc made a sound of disgust—“get someone to cut him down and haul him to the morgue. I should be able to give you a pretty good estimate. But there sure isn’t a whole hell of a lot I can do with him on that cross.” Doc Johnson took some photos, then gathered vegetation from the base of the cross and placed it in a paper envelope. Without another word, the coroner gave his back and returned from where he came, muttering something about morals or the lack thereof. Mac turned to KC and shrugged. “Well, you heard the man. Let’s get someone out here to cut him down.” * * * Sharalee MacArthur sauntered into the sheriff’s office, the heels of her red pumps clicking off the highly polished marble floor. She straightened the front of her red linen suit and slipped a button free on her white blouse, adding a little more view of her cleavage. For the past year, since her graduation from college, she had been serving McCreary County as a victim’s advocate. And she was damn good at it. So why hadn’t KC ever looked at her as anything other than the child he had watched grow up? Shar had carried a torch for KC Tanner for as long as she could remember. Probably since the first time KC strolled across her and her father’s threshold fifteen years ago. She was all but nine and he twenty-three. But what did age really matter to a nine-year-old? She swore, one day KC would exclusively be hers, and that he 7

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would never want to look at another woman. But to her dismay that day still hadn’t come to pass, no matter how provocative the clothes she wore, on which her father never ceased to comment, or how flirtatious her nature became. KC always seemed to tousle the top of her hair, or good-heartedly slap her on the back. He treated her like one of the ball players from the basketball team he coached, although, he had not yet taken to slapping her soundly on the derrière…not that she would mind. The door to her father’s office stood open, and by the sound, both Mac and KC were in attendance. With not as much as a knock to announce her arrival, she strolled into the office, a large saucy smile pasted on her face. As always, her father’s face lit up when she entered. With her mother being gone some twenty years, Shar had become his whole life. KC, however, barely glanced at her before returning to whatever uninteresting paper he clutched in his hands. For crying out loud, what did it take to get the man’s attention? Obviously, whatever Kate Kershaw had, and Shar didn’t. But Shar intended on finding out—even if it meant befriending the ice princess from Williamsburg. KC and the prima donna had been an item for more than six years. Shar thought Kate wouldn’t stand a chance once KC realized she had grown up. But that day hadn’t happened—and Shar was beginning to think it never would. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Mac stood behind his desk, grasped and hugged her. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said as he kissed her cheek. Shar couldn’t help stealing another glance at KC, who continued to be completely unaffected by her presence. His nearly black hair, combed back from his forehead and accenting straight brows that shot upward at an odd angle, gave his warm brown eyes a devilish appearance. But the most sensuous part of him, the part that never failed to draw her attention, was his full lips. Lips she could only 8

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imagine on every part of her body. “I really think you ought to dress a little more appropriately for the office, dear,” her father said, drawing her out of her reverie. He refastened the button she had just undone. “Don’t you think, KC?” KC mumbled a noncommittal reply and continued to read the report. If not for Kate, Shar might be tempted to think the man gay. Shar turned to her father. “So what did you need?” Mac indicated that she take the seat beside KC, then took his own behind the desk. Shar sat, inhaling deeply of KC’s scent. He smelled of woods and musk: the great outdoors. Finally KC glanced her way and slapped her on the nylon-covered knee in a brotherly form of affection. “So, how’s your day?” The heat from the brief touch of his palm traveled clear up her thigh, making her wonder at her decision to hold out for KC. At this rate, she might very well die a virgin. “It was going great until about four minutes ago,” she mumbled. KC and Mac looked queerly at her. She continued, “So what’s this about?” KC gave Shar his full attention. “We found George Stanton dead this morning.” “Oh, my.” Shar’s eyes widened, her heart drummed in her chest. An odd, abysmal feeling fell over her. “The kind man that owns the Stop ’n’ Shop?” “One and the same,” Mac replied. “I’m going to let KC fill in the sordid details. I need to run over to the morgue and see if the coroner can give us a time of death, maybe even sit in on the autopsy.” “Let me know what you find,” KC replied as Mac left them. Bad timing. George Stanton’s family needed to be informed about his untimely death and all Shar could think about was closing the office door and showing KC what he was missing. Why did all sane thought seem to leave her in his presence? Maybe because she had waited too long for him to notice her as a woman. And by the looks of things, that 9

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situation wasn’t about to rectify. “So how did George die?” “I’ve never seen anything like it, and I hope I never do again.” Shar shifted in her seat. Something did not feel right about this death. Why else would they need her—a Victim’s Advocate? “He was murdered?” “I wish it were that simple, Shar—Ol’ George was crucified.” Shar chuckled. “You’re joking, right?” KC’s face hardened. “I wish I were. Someone nailed George to a big cross and I don’t think he was dead when they did it.” She felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her light-headed and dizzy. KC grasped her free hand, his hand hot in contrast to her cold one. “Are you going to be all right?” Shar pulled her hand free and used it to smooth down her linen skirt. “I’m fine.” “I know we’ve all dealt with murder before, but in all my years on the force, I haven’t seen anything like this.” “You need me to go with you to speak to his wife.” It was more a statement than a question. “You’re better at these kinds of things.” “It’s what I’m trained for.” She glanced away, trying desperately not to shed a tear. How could she possibly comfort George’s wife when she was anything but herself? She couldn’t begin to fathom the horrible death he must have endured. KC grasped her chin and brought her gaze back to his. A tear slipped past her lash and he used the pad of his thumb to wipe it away. The single, kindest act KC had shown her to date and she couldn’t even enjoy it. “How well did you know the Stantons?” “We all went to St. Mary’s Cathedral. As a little girl, I played with his kids. Whenever I would go into the little carryout on Marsh Creek Road, Mr. Stanton would always hand me a string of rock candy, 10

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knowing how much I liked it. Why would anyone want to hurt such a good man?” KC sighed as he sat back in his chair. “To tell you the truth, I don’t have the foggiest idea. I’m not even sure how many people are involved. But it’s hard for me to believe one person could have accomplished this on his or her own.” “So you think a woman might be involved?” He chuckled. “Women usually aren’t that cruel by nature. But, as a detective, I can’t rule out the possibility.” KC stood and offered his hand to Shar, which she took. About half way out of the chair, not yet steady on her heels, a feminine throat cleared. KC dropped her hand like he would a poisonous rattler and Shar fell ungracefully back into her seat. A disgruntled Kate Kershaw stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her small breasts, tapping the toe of a well-polished western boot.

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CHAPTER 2

Damn, but Kate had bad timing as always. She never failed to make KC feel like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar—especially where Shar MacArthur was concerned. And he had no business whatsoever thinking about Shar. He had watched Shar grow up, for crying out loud. But grow up she had, into one hell of a beautiful woman, of which Shar had made it her vocation to see that he noticed. KC hadn’t missed her far-from-subtle ways of seduction. A seduction aimed at him, no less. But as God was his witness, KC meant to stay as far away from Shar as possible. If nothing else than for the years of friendship he spent with her father. Besides, Mac would have his head on a platter if KC ever touched his little girl. “Kate,” KC said, hoping his tone didn’t divulge the guilt he felt for his earlier thoughts at seeing far too much of Shar’s cleavage. His conscience warred with fastening the button on Shar’s blouse, as Mac had, or tossing him out the office and giving her what she obviously 12

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craved. The devil in him opted for the latter—and what a fantasy that had conjured. His face heated at the reminder. “What brings you by?” Kate halted the annoying little tap of her toe and grasped his biceps, placing a lingering kiss on his cheek. Her perfume overwhelmed him. It wasn’t the scent, just that she smelled like she had bathed in it. Not for the first time, he wondered why he continued on with her. Though she obviously knew her way around the bedroom, it wasn’t enough to justify leading her on. Kate wanted an engagement; KC liked things the way they were. They had argued the point many a time with Kate warning him that one day he’d lose her if he didn’t soon learn the meaning of the word “commitment.” But a quick glance at Shar— straightening her skirt in an attempt to regain dignity after he had ceremoniously dumped her into the chair—told him the real reason for staying with Kate: it kept Shar at bay. At least with Kate around, he didn’t have to worry about his lust for Shar getting out of control to the point that one day he would act on impulse. He wanted Shar—and in a big way, the evidence still straining the pleats of his dress pants. KC quickly buttoned his blazer as Kate straightened his collar and said, “I thought I’d come by and take you to lunch.” “I wish you would have called first,” KC said, trying damn hard at feigning disappointment, “then you wouldn’t have made the trip for nothing. I’m going to have to pass.” Kate quickly glanced at Shar, disdain clearly evident. “What has you so busy you can’t spend an hour with me? I promise”—she sidled closer and finished the rest with a whisper—“to make it worth your while.” Her lower abdomen rubbed against his groin. When a smile turned up the corners of her lips, he knew she mistook his discomfort as a sign of his happiness to see her. KC lightly grasped her shoulders and set her aside. The woman had no sense of decency. “Look, Kate, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for…lunch. I’m working a big case. But I am awfully glad to see you.” 13

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“I can tell.” Again, that knowing smile. KC suppressed the urge to groan. Maybe it was time to tell Kate to hit the road. But six years… “Look, maybe we can meet tonight—” “No good.” She shook her head with vigor. “I have my Bridge Club.” “Well, then”—it was KC’s turn to smile—“I guess this will just have to wait.” And with that, he escorted her to the front of the station, leaving Shar staring at their retreating forms. He didn’t have to glance back to know this. He could feel it, all the way to his aching groin. Good Lord, he would have to spend the rest of the day with her— and in that damn red suit, no less. With its tight, too-short skirt and its form-fitting jacket, it had quickly become his favorite or most dreaded suit she wore, whichever way he wanted to look at it. At the front of the station, he paused. “Look, Kate, I really am glad to see you.” “I know, darling”—her disappointment apparent in her eyes—“but are you sure you can’t slip away for even a brief interlude. I hate to leave you in this…state.” KC grinned. “I’ll be fine. As a matter of fact, that state, as you call it, has already abated. So don’t go getting yourself all worked up over it. I’ll drive up to Williamsburg this weekend. Maybe we can spend the whole day together.” Kate’s grin turned naughty as she pretended to straighten his jacket once more, only to brush across his groin with the palm of her hand. “Yeah”—she lowered her voice—“in bed.” “I have to go, Kate.” KC tried to keep the annoyance out of his tone. The only bed he wanted to spend the day in was Shar’s. And that wasn’t likely to happen. Kate kissed him on the cheek, then walked out the door, turning briefly to mouth the words, “I’ll call.” 14

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KC waved. At the age of thirty-two, Kate Kershaw still had the body of a twenty-year-old and the face of an angel. His sudden disinterest had little to do with her, but a whole lot to do with— As he turned, he ran into the object of his musings. Literally. He had to clasp her shoulders to keep from knocking Shar to the floor. Why did his thoughts of her always seem to conjure her up? Probably, because of late, she had been the center of those thoughts way too much. It didn’t help that Shar desired him, even advertised the fact. Mac had commented on her “silly little crush” a time or two. Though his statement had always been followed by, “You know better than to touch that. She’s my little girl, you know.” Pride and joy; love of his life. And of course, Mac always finished with, “Besides, you’re damn near old enough to be her father.” As if Mac had to point out that speck of information. It’s not like KC hadn’t thought it himself—at least a hundred times over. God help him. Why did Shar have to come home from college all grown up? Why did she have to come home at all? “You ready?” Shar asked. “Why the hell do you do that?” KC grumbled. Her eyes narrowed. “Do what?” “Sneak up on me, for crying out loud.” He reached into his pant’s pocket and extracted his keys. Shar shrugged, her gaze wide and innocent. “I don’t do it on purpose.” He directed his self-anger at Shar. “The hell you don’t,” he said, then led her out of the station to where he kept his Blazer, not once looking back to see if she followed. * * * Twenty long and quiet minutes later, the two pulled up in front of the Stanton homestead. Shar had no idea what she had done this time to 15

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upset KC. As a matter of fact, she always seemed to be running circles around him as of late. Either trying to get him to notice her, or catering to some current black mood. Shar had seen his lovable, playful character many a time in the past. But since her reappearance from college, he seemed short of temper and moody. Almost as if some uncontrollable force drove him, ate away at him. “You ready for this?” KC glanced at her from his side of the Blazer, his gaze distant, haunted, bringing her musings back to the job at hand. “As ready as one can be, I suppose.” Without another word, KC leapt from the vehicle and proceeded to the other side to assist her from the cab. After opening her door, he held out his hand and helped her step down. The SUV, with its tall cab, allowed her no real graceful exit on her own, so she allowed him to assist her. The Stanton home sat about four miles out from Pine Knot, up a small single-lane, winding road densely surrounded by trees. Being in the center of the Daniel Boone Forest, most homes outside of town were in the thicket of trees. Shar walked carefully up the neatly placed stones to the one-story aluminum and brick-sided home. It wasn’t large by any means, but comfortable enough to house a family of four. George had left behind a wife and two twin daughters, Abbey and Angela. Both were grown and bringing up families of their own. KC placed his hand in the small of her back as they reached the front door. His presence warmed her from the tip of her red pumps to the top of her head. Not in a sexual way, but more as a comfort. He gave her the stability to continue with what they had come here for in the first place. Even though she had been trained for this, this part of the job had never been easy. He rapped solidly on the metal screen door, waiting for Jean Stanton to answer. Years ago, when Shar and her father had been 16

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occasionally invited over for a meal following mass, the sound of laughter and joy always filtered through the opened door like music to lonely ears, as well as George’s coon dogs barking from their holding pen in the back. Shar always envied their family life. Now, only silence greeted her and KC. Empty and void. The old metal door creaked on rusted hinges as Jean Stanton peered at them through the crack she had created. Apprehension and fear clouded her normal jovial gaze. “Deputy Tanner, Miss MacArthur,” she said, her voice frail and weak, her appearance tired and beaten. Somehow, Jean seemed to know what they were there to tell her. A sixth sense, of sorts. But after a week of dealing with her husband’s sudden disappearance she had probably prepared herself for the worst. She opened the inside door and unlocked the screen. “Would you like to come in?” “That would be nice, Mrs. Stanton,” Shar replied, a courtesy smile turning up the corners of her lips, though she knew it didn’t mirror in her eyes. Jean stepped aside, allowing Shar and KC into the darkened living room. The drawn, deep-blue curtains admitted little light. As a matter of fact, the whole house appeared dismal and gray. Shar sat on the sofa as KC remained standing. Jean turned on the table lamp and pulled up a chair opposite Shar. Wilted crimson roses drooped in a milky white vase sitting on the stand beside them. “A gift from George,” Jean sniffed, her gaze going to the roses. “I received them the day he disappeared. He must have sent them before locking up. He was always so thoughtful.” Shar didn’t have the heart to tell her it was the last gift she would ever receive from him. As a matter of fact, she was nearly losing the nerve to tell her George had passed on altogether. “It’s George, isn’t it?” she asked as though reading Shar’s thoughts. 17

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The tears Jean held at bay cracked her voice. “The reason you are here.” Shar clasped Jean’s hands in her own. “There’s never an easy way to say this.” “He’s dead,” she supplied. Shar nodded, tears stinging the back of her eyes. Jean bit her lower lip, as if attempting to stop the beginning tremors. “I thought so,” she choked out, pulling her hands free and looking at the ground. Teardrops fell unheeded. “I could sense it…like a part of me wasn’t there anymore. A void. I worried sick the first day or so after he disappeared, like a restlessness that wouldn’t abate. I sensed he needed me, but I didn’t know where to find him.” Jean glanced back at Shar and KC. Black smears from her running mascara marred her cheeks, making them appear more sunken. Her lips puckered and trembled. “I didn’t know where to find him,” she repeated. Then hiding her face in her hands, the sobs came. Long and brokenhearted sobs. Her shoulders shook from the weight of despair as she slid from her seat to the floor, hugging her knees, wailing, “Dear God, no! Oh, dear God!” Shar knelt beside the shattered woman and gathered her in an embrace. Being a victim’s advocate taught her how to deal with people’s pain, to comfort them. But nowhere had she learned to distance herself from the anguish. She felt it too acutely. Holding the woman close, she allowed Jean to cry and mourned with her. They weren’t bound by time—it could have been minutes or hours that they stayed locked as one. Shar had no idea. The only thing that mattered was easing Jean’s pain. KC had left his spot beside them long ago, pacing. Possibly his way of dealing with the situation. Shar already knew KC handled emotions differently than others. He tended to bottle them inside, share himself with no one. She had seen it in the way he had handled his mother and 18

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father’s death some six years back when they both died instantly, their lives taken by a drunk driver. The culprit served a year for his misdeed. Hardly enough time, but the State had disagreed and set him free. KC hadn’t talked freely about them or the accident then, nor did he now. The subject of his parents was one never broached, like an unspoken song—a tune he carried around in his head. Shar knew it was there, but he never sang it out loud. Even now, as he stood peering out the window, Shar could see it in the strong set of his shoulders, the way that he held himself at bay from the rest of the world; too proud to show weakness. Finally Jean’s sobs subsided and she set herself away from Shar, breaking into her musings. Jean stood, wiped her face with the palms of her hands, apologized, then left the room. KC turned from the window, letting the curtain fall into place, and glanced at Shar. “Are you going to be all right?” Shar extracted a tissue from her purse and blotted the wetness from her face. “This isn’t the easiest part of the job.” “No.” Shar thought in the dim lighting that she detected a sheen in his own eyes, possibly caged tears. Silence filled the gulf between them. As if on cue, Jean returned with three glasses of lemonade, handing them each one. “It’s freshly squeezed,” she said, her voice ringing hollow. “Just the way George—” She sighed with a shudder, then retook her seat. “Oh, my, I’m not handling this very well, am I?” Shar patted Jean’s hand. “There is no easy way to take this kind of news, Mrs. Stanton.” “Please, dear, call me Jean.” She glanced up. “All I want is for you to be frank. I want all the specifics. How did he die?” It was KC’s turn. Shar’s job was to comfort, KC’s to state the facts. He walked to the sofa and sat beside Shar. Leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and steepling his 19

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hands, he stared Jean in the eye. “Someone nailed him to a cross, Jean.” She gasped for air; her complexion paled to powder. “On a cross? I—I’m not sure I understand.” “A crucifixion…like Christ.” Jean quickly crossed herself before toppling off the chair and into KC’s waiting arms. * * * “Damn,” KC mumbled with a shake of his head. How the hell did these things always seem to happen to him? That’s what he had brought Shar along for, for chrissake. He never could handle emotions. Hell, he couldn’t even handle his own. Just how was he suppose to tell a grieving widow that her precious other half had been nailed to a tree? Obviously not the way he had just done it. Shar jumped to her feet and shot him daggers with her eyes. Had they actually been weapons, surely she would have pinned him to the wall, arms out to the side like Ol’ George. He shrugged, feigning innocence. “What the hell was I suppose to say?” he asked as he laid Jean on the sofa. Shar’s fists perched on her hips as her arms stuck out like a bird ready to take flight, prepared to launch at him at any given moment. “Oh, go ahead,” he grumbled. Her eyes narrowed. “Go ahead and what?” “Yell at me, like you know you want to. Tell me what I just did wrong.” With a shake of her head and look of disgust, she said, “If you can’t figure it out in that thick-headed brain of yours, I’m not about to tell you.” Then she stomped out of the room, leaving him to contend with Jean Stanton by himself. “Women,” he mumbled. He glanced back at Jean, whose flesh appeared deathly white, so much so, he was damned near tempted to believe he might have killed her with his poorly-worded description of George’s death. 20

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That would be just his luck. He placed an ear above her heart and listened to the slow drum as Shar reentered the room. “Well,” she asked as she threw a cold washrag at him. He caught it in mid-air. “Well, what?” he replied, dumbfounded. “Did you kill her?” KC chuckled at the look of utter contempt in her eyes. He was so used to her worship of him that it struck him as funny. Shar glared at him and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, shoving more of her cleavage than he needed to see into his view. He nearly groaned from the sight. “What do you find so funny? A moment ago, you seemed as distraught as I. This poor woman lost her husband to a heinous crime and you sit there laughing at me.” KC placed the cold rag on the woman’s forehead, then approached Shar. “By God, I do believe you are truly angry with me.” “That’s what you find so funny? Why shouldn’t I be?” He shrugged. “I guess I deserve it. I sure in the hell never had a way with words.” “That much is obvious, Detective.” “Tell me, Shar, how would you have handled it?” “Certainly not by coming right out and telling her George was nailed to a piece of wood, for crying out loud!” Feeling her hostility seeping into his veins, he shot back, “Well, I didn’t go to college for four years, little Miss Priss, to learn how to handle these sort of things. You did!” “No, KC, it’s obvious by your crassness.” “So now I’m crass?” His voice raised an octave. “No—you’re just downright unfeeling. You have ice running in your veins. You couldn’t see a truly kind and caring person if she stood right beneath your nose. You’re too busy caring about yourself.” How the hell had she turned this around and made this all about her? 21

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“Miss MacArthur, I’ll have you know—” Jean coughed and stuttered back to life behind them, thankfully stopping KC from saying something he’d regret. He wasn’t out to hurt Shar by any means; he just wanted her at a distance. Theirs’ had to be a business relationship and nothing more. KC walked back to Jean and knelt beside her. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Stanton. I guess I worded your husband’s death poorly.” Jean struggled to a sitting position with KC’s help. Her ashen complexion made her appear over a hundred years old. “Please, Detective, there was no better way of telling me.” “Surely, there was, and I apologize.” “He suffered, didn’t he?” KC looked at Shar for assistance. He had no desire to muck up this one. Shar walked over to his side, then took a seat next to Jean on the green plaid sofa. “Jean, maybe we should wait for another day to discuss the facts. The sheriff’s office still doesn’t have all the specifics. Doc Johnson is performing the autopsy as we speak at the Scott County Hospital in Tennessee. He’s probably getting help from a forensic pathologist. Sheriff MacArthur is sitting in on the autopsy.” Jean nodded, then curled into a ball in the corner of the couch. “Would you like me to contact your daughters?” Shar asked. Again, just a weak nod. “Then KC needs to head out and do his job. I will stay with you as long as you need me.” Jean’s body shuddered as she tightly wrapped her arms around her middle. * * * Grasping a cover from the back of the sofa, Shar placed it over Jean, knowing it would help little. The chills Jean experienced would probably not abate—not for a long time. “I’m going to walk Detective Tanner out to his truck. Will you be all right for a few minutes?” 22

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Jean omitted a watery, “Yes,” then closed her eyes against the streaming of more tears. Moments later, Shar followed KC to his SUV. She nudged a few stones in the driveway with the toe of her pump. “I’m sorry about that in there.” “It was as much my fault as it was yours.” She glanced up, seeing the compassion in KC’s face he tried so desperately to hide from the world. “I’ll call if I need a ride back.” KC nodded, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I can send one of the deputies out to get you. I’ll probably be too busy.” “Probably,” she agreed. He always had been busy when it concerned her. Though now, because of this case, they would be forced together. The thought should have made her happy. Instead, all she could think of was Jean. “So where are you headed?” “To find out who George Stanton was having an affair with.”

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CHAPTER 3

KC jerked the gearshift into park, causing the Blazer to rock on all four tires. He had allowed Shar to get beneath his skin and into his thoughts again. If he wanted to catch a killer, then his best bet was to keep his mind on the job at hand and not on a woman he had no right thinking about. Maybe going to see Kate this weekend wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. If nothing else, Kate would keep him so busy he wouldn’t have time to contemplate Shar. A double-wide mobile home, sorely in need of a paint job, sat off the county road about fifty yards. Two shutters hung sideways; three others had disappeared altogether. Two cars were parked in the driveway; one on blocks, the other looking as though it wouldn’t make it out of the driveway, much less down the road. Grass, long gone to seed, grew taller than the badly neglected bushes out front. KC walked up the stone drive, carefully stepping over discarded bottles and beer cans. This wasn’t a home. Christ, this was a goddam garbage dump. But Paul Smith was one of George’s long-standing 24

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friends, and if anyone knew what ol’ George had been up to prior to his death, it would be Paul. Paul’s wife had passed on some fifteen years ago, leaving a brokendown man who would have gladly welcomed death on a cloudless sunny day. Probably the reason the home was in such a state of disrepair. Paul had forfeited his own life. KC rapped on the metal inside door. The screen door was long gone, leaving nothing behind but rusty hinges. As the inside door creaked open, the musty smell of a house needing to be aired out claimed his nose. KC stayed the urge to pinch it. Hell, it damn near smelled like something had died in there. “Can I help you, Deputy Tanner?” Paul wheezed from his side of the door. Emphysema had set in, yet the ever-present cigarette bobbed from one corner of his lips as he spoke. “Mr. Smith.” KC nodded. “Can I have a word with you?” “Sure thing,” Paul said, allowing KC to step into the dingy interior. The green shag carpet matted to the floor and appeared as though it hadn’t been swept since Estelle’s death. Paul brushed a spot of crumbs from the plaid, threadbare sofa and offered KC a seat. “No, thanks, Paul,” he declined. There was no way in hell he was sitting anywhere inside this mess. A cockroach scurried from beneath the sofa as though attesting to his convictions, causing a shiver of revulsion to pass down his spine. “I can’t stay long. I just need a few questions answered.” Paul narrowed his ice-blue, watery gaze. “Am I in some sort of trouble here, Deputy?” “No, no,” KC said. He reached into his pocket and extracted a pad and pen. “Not at all, Paul. Have a seat. I just need to ask you a few questions, then I’ll be on my way.” Paul slumped onto a broken-down recliner and leaned his balding pate against the back. He propped one gnarled foot on the rest that seemed rusted in the up position. His toenails had yellowed and 25

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cracked. “What’s on your mind?” “Can I record this? It will save me the time of writing everything down. That way I’ll be out of your way much sooner.” Paul nodded. KC depressed the play and record button on the recorder and said, “For the record, Paul Smith has agreed to the taping of this interview.” KC placed the micro-recorder between them on the coffee table, piled heavy with Field and Stream magazines. “For the record, your name is Paul Eugene Smith. Is this correct?” “Yep, all my life.” “Your place of residence is M Ross Road, Pine Knot, Kentucky.” “Yep.” “Age?” “Just turned sixty on my last birthday. All this necessary?” “Just setting everything for the records.” “I thought you said I wasn’t in any kinda trouble.” “You’re not, Paul. Now, do you know a George Stanton?” “You know I do. Is he the one in trouble?” KC knew he had jumped the gun in coming here so quickly after George’s death. The official word hadn’t hit the grapevine yet. But after this interview, all of Pine Knot, if not McCreary County, would be aware of the events surrounding the death of George Stanton. Most would be speculation. “You could say that, Paul. We found George dead this morning.” Paul flinched; his shoulders sagged more than normal. For several minutes, he said nothing, just turned his teary gaze to his weathered hands. Blue veins stood out in contrast to his pasty flesh. Finally, he glanced back up. “When?” he croaked. His voice carried a hitch from the tears he seemed to hold at bay. Paul came from the old school, where men weren’t supposed to cry. “About a week ago, as near as we can figure. We found him this morning. His autopsy should give us a more approximate time of death.” 26

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Paul slowly nodded again, as though digesting what KC had come to tell him. KC waited patiently for Paul to speak. Finally, Paul asked, “You know how he died?” “Cause of death is still unknown.” “Heart attack?” “Doesn’t look that way. George didn’t die from natural causes, Paul.” “George wasn’t the suicide type,” Paul assimilated. “So what you’re sayin’ is someone murdered him. Am I right?” “It appears that way.” Paul’s face paled. “You think I did it? Is that why you’re here?” “No, Paul, we don’t think you were involved.” “Then what do you want from me?” “I need to know a little bit about George. Something only a good friend of his might know.” “Well, if it will help you catch whoever did this to George, I’ll do what I can,” Paul stated as a coughing jag took over. He grasped his inhaler from the recliner table, wrapped his thin lips around the tube, then depressed the canister once and inhaled deeply. Slowly, the coughing subsided. Picking up another cigarette, he placed it between his lips, struck a match and inhaled until the tip of it glowed red. Sulfur and smoke added to the stench of the small room. “You used to play cards every morning down at the Stop ’n’ Shop.” “Yep, me and the boys. Rex, John, and George. Rarely missed a day—that is, until George came up missing a week ago.” “Was George ever unfaithful to his wife, that you know of?” Paul’s white bushy eyebrows drew together, looking ready to take flight. He contemplated the question, seemed to mull it around in his mind. KC could almost see the wheels turning. Then he said, “There was a time, maybe.” “A time? Nothing recent?” “Nope, don’t believe so. I would think one of us would have 27

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suspected it if he was. But you might ask Rex or John. I highly doubt, though, that George would tell them something he wouldn’t tell me.” “I intend to, right after I leave here. I know, that out of the three of you, you were the closest to George. That’s why I came to you first.” “Very good friends.” Paul sniffed, and for a moment, KC thought maybe the ol’ guy was going to finally grieve over the loss of his good friend. But no tears came. “What about in the past?” “A while back—there was a time when we all thought he was.” “He didn’t tell you about it?” “Nope. I don’t think George told anyone. But you know how word spreads in a small town like this. Ain’t nobody able to keep a secret here for long. About some twenty odd years back we all suspected that George was havin’ an affair.” “But he never told you about it or who he might be having an affair with.” Paul shook his head. “You have any ideas?” KC asked. “We all had an idea, but it don’t make it the truth.” “I’m sure it has no bearing on George’s death since it happened twenty years ago, but I’d like to hear it just the same.” He scratched the wiry stubble on his cheek. “Alison MacArthur.” KC flinched. Mac’s late wife was the last person he thought Paul would name. “The Sheriff’s Alison?” “You know of any other Alison MacArthurs in McCreary County, Deputy?” “Don’t believe I do.” KC attempted to keep the surprise from his tone, but by the smug look on Paul’s rotted face, he doubted he had gotten the job done. “As I said,” Paul continued, smoke curling up and around his washed-out gaze, “we ain’t got any proof. Just rumors, is all. Besides, 28

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that was a long time ago.” “Sharalee would have been just a baby about that time.” “Somewhere abouts there—give or take a few years. Jean Stanton was spittin’ mad at the rumors that she threatened to divorce him— even with the twins at home. When she heard the word, she locked him out for a week. He was just lucky my Estelle didn’t know why his Jean kicked his sorry ass out. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been allowing him to sleep on our couch, by God. Estelle didn’t take kindly to adulterers. No, sir, she thought they were the devil’s spawn, she did. Estelle never missed a Sunday to pray for the lost souls.” “You go with her?” “Nope.” He chuckled, sending him coughing again. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, stubbed it out in the ashtray, and quickly grabbed his inhaler once more. Then he said, “I was one of them lost souls she was praying for. I’m amazed that woman put up with me all those years. I think she thought, by staying married to me, she might somehow save me.” “Did she?” “Save me?” Paul grinned. “Hell, no, I was too far gone. I never had any use for those hypocrites who sat in the pews Sunday after Sunday. They go to church, fall asleep in the pews, then pass judgment on everyone else. No, sir, no use for them.” “Whatever gave you the idea Alison was the one George was sleeping with?” “It was all hush-hush, like. Sheriff MacArthur, though he wasn’t Sheriff back then, had just joined the force. Word like that getting around doesn’t look good. It ain’t like this is one of those big cities. People turn their noses down on you. You know what I mean?” “I sure do, Paul,” KC mumbled, thinking about his own past. Luckily, that was one secret that stayed undercover. * * * Rex and John hadn’t been able to tell him anymore than Paul had. 29

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George’s life appeared squeaky clean in the last few years of his life. If he had been having an affair, then no one in town knew anything about it. But one word had accused George, nonetheless. Nailed above his head. White cardboard painted with bold black letters: ADULTERY. And from what KC had remembered about crucifixions in the days of the Bible, a person’s crime was nailed above their head, convicting them. Christ’s crime had been KING; George’s ADULTERY. Someone obviously thought George guilty. Someone had made themselves judge, jury, and executioner. KC’s own past crashed back to the forefront of his mind, haunting him. Memories better off left buried. At seventeen-years-old, he could hardly be held responsible. Hell, he had still been a kid, wet behind the ears. But yet, he held himself accountable. And the excuse of a tender age only went so far. It didn’t ease his conscience nor did it help when it came to forgiving himself. Twenty years past and he had yet to do just that. At the time, KC hadn’t felt bad about what had happened. Hell, he felt blessed. After all, he was a typical boy. It wasn’t until years later that he realized the implications of his actions. And even now, the pain of his betrayal had dulled but still remained. After pulling up in front of the sheriff’s office, KC jumped from the cab of his Blazer, passing the sheriff’s truck on the way into the brickfronted building. He jogged up the cement stairs, past the white pillars and into the air-conditioned interior, filled with renewed excitement with the sins of yesterday nothing more than a fleeting memory once again. The door to Mac’s office stood open as his deep baritone filtered into the corridor. “No, we don’t know what we have here yet…I understand that…we’ll issue an official statement to the press later today.” KC entered the office unannounced, knowing Mac was alone and 30

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on the phone by the sound of the one-sided conversation. Mac glanced up, rolled his eyes at whomever was on the other end of the line, and motioned for KC to take a seat. KC walked to the old stand-by coffeemaker that looked in need of a good cleaning job and poured himself a cup. Sitting across from the sheriff, he blew the steam across the surface of the coffee. Mac placed the receiver in the cradle. “Damn press,” he grumbled. “Sons of bitches are hounding me for a story. I already received a phone call from Williamsburg, for crying out loud. How the hell does word get out so damn fast in these parts, I ask you?” Not that Mac wanted an answer, KC knew, but he supplied one anyway. “You live in a small county like McCreary and everyone knows your business. You know that, Mac.” Mac opened his drawer, pulled out a pouch of Red Man, and put a pinch between his cheek and gums. An old Styrofoam coffee cup sat on his desk, ready for use. “Still never ceases to amaze me, though.” “This case is going to be big, Mac. The press is bound to be all over us. This is huge news in these parts. So what the hell do we tell them?” “The truth—George Stanton was crucified. Some son of a bitch nailed him to a make-shift cross big as a goddam tree.” “The adultery?” “That we keep secret.” “I’ve already questioned Paul Smith and his cronies on the matter.” “Doesn’t matter—they don’t have to know why we questioned them about it. You tell them about the sign above his head?” “Nope, just asked them if they thought George might be having an affair. They didn’t ask why. I think they were too stunned about his death to wonder about my line of questioning.” “Okay.” Mac spit a wad of goo into the cup. “We need to hold back something only the killer and us would know.” 31

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“I’ll make sure Miller and Crawford keep quiet about it. You tell the coroner?” “Yep—he won’t say a word. All confidential-like. You find out anything from Paul, John, or Rex we can use?” KC toyed with the idea of telling him about the link to Alison, but thought better of it. After all, a twenty-year-old affair would have no bearing on this case. Why bring up old wounds? KC was pretty sure Mac knew what his wife had been up to. “None of them had anything to say. As far as they knew, George was completely faithful to Jean as of late.” The sheriff rubbed his chin. “Hell—we’re not even sure the killer isn’t pulling our leg or trying to throw us off track by nailing that above his head. He may have us running in the wrong direction. You think of that?” “Actually, I did. But I can’t think of a single reason anyone would want to kill George. And I’m still not convinced this is the work of one person. When Jean is more up to it, I want to question her more on the goings on around the Stop ’n’ Shop. Maybe he pissed off some kids or something. There’s a lot of hate groups around here: skin heads, KKK, that kind of thing. Something smells real bad about this case—and it ain’t ol’ George’s body. You find anything we can use at the morgue?” “Just that he died of asphyxiation. His legs were pretty well busted up. George couldn’t support his weight enough to draw a breath. But he was definitely alive when he was nailed there.” “Damn.” KC shook his head. “I couldn’t begin to imagine.” “Seems he died last Saturday. The coroner has it figured he had to have hung there alive through the night Friday and died early Saturday.” “Toxicology reports?” “The lab’s working on them. I’m not sure anything will show up after a week of decomposition.” Mac spit another brown stream into the cup. “By the way—Shar called. She needs a ride home.” 32

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KC nearly groaned. “Send Miller.” “Gone for the day.” “Crawford?” “Gone.” “Then send one of the other deputies.” “They’re on the road.” “Then radio them, for chrissake.” Mac stared at KC, his gaze narrowing. “Something happen between you and Shar?” KC shifted in his chair. “Why would you ask?” “You seem reluctant to be in her company. I’m just asking you to give her a ride, KC, not sleep with her.” His gaze dropped to his lap as he fidgeted with the cup in his hand. “She’s too damn young for me, Mac, and you know that.” “And you had better remember it. I know she’s got a silly crush on you, but she ain’t old enough to know you ain’t right for her. She needs to find herself a nice lawyer or something—someone more her age.” KC glanced up. If Mac even suspected where his thoughts traveled as of late, he wouldn’t let KC anywhere near his daughter. “I’ll go pick her up.” “Good. Tell her I’ll be home in an hour or so. I have a meeting with the mayor in about ten minutes. Got to calm this county down. We have to come up with what we’re going to tell the press, then release an official statement.” KC stood and walked toward the exit when he remembered the St. Christopher’s medal. He turned back. “You have that medal you found at the site this morning?” “Sure I do, it’s right…” The sheriff reached into his shirt pocket. His face went blank. “Well, it was here. I stuck in here this morning.” “You lost a piece of evidence?” KC’s eyebrows raised. Mac was not usually prone to carelessness. Mac’s face reddened. “Well—it’s got to be around here somewhere. 33

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When I find it, I’ll tag it myself.” KC stayed the urge to blasphemy. This was his boss and not the other way around. But how much more careless could he get. Instead, KC shook his head. “I’ll see Shar gets home safely.”

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CHAPTER 4

KC pulled the deputy SUV to a stop in front of Jean Stanton’s house. Shar sat on the front porch, legs tucked beneath her chin, arms wrapped around them, looking much like the girl he had met some fifteen years ago when he first joined the force and been invited to the MacArthur household. Little Sharalee had sat on the lowest step, looking all of her nine years, braided pigtails sticking out the side of her head like the redheaded girl Pippi Longstocking, with a lopsided, missing-toothed nervous grin as her daddy had introduced her to the new man on the force. From that point, little Shar clung to KC in adoration whenever he had been in her presence: family picnics, sheriff’s office barbecues, county fairs. And since Mac and he had become best friends on the force, the occasions happened quite frequently. KC hadn’t minded—after all, Shar had always been polite and wellbehaved. Mac had done a good job raising his daughter without the aid of a mother. She had grown into a fine young woman. 35

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Shar lifted her head as KC stepped from the vehicle, offering him the same crooked smile from years back, though he knew she felt anything but happy. The evidence was clearly written in her gaze. Spending an entire day with Jean had taken its toll. Even from fifty feet away, KC could detect the shadows haunting her brown eyes. He had been lucky to escape when he had, never one to deal with high-strung emotions. He fared better ignoring them—or he was better off pretending he didn’t have them. Some days, he truly believed himself as uncaring as the rest of McCreary County thought him to be. He had heard the rumors. Some even dared to call him Stone Cold to his face, receiving the nickname of the famous wrestler. But he didn’t mind— not really. It kept others at bay. His only friend on the force in fifteen years had been Mac, and he wanted to keep it that way. It was times like these, though, seeing Shar looking like the world had truly beaten her, that made him realize how damn close to the surface those emotions actually were. Even Kate could not affect him the way Shar did. KC attributed that to nothing more than the years he spent watching Shar grow up. Hell, he had been like a big brother to her. “Hi,” Shar said, standing. “I was hoping you would be the one to pick me up.” “Wasn’t any help for it,” he mumbled, hating himself the instant the words left his lips. After the day she had spent, she certainly did not deserve sarcasm. The tender smile left her face, making him feel like a jerk. One more cruelty and he knew he would be dealing with a sobbing woman. And that he couldn’t handle. “I’m sorry.” Shrugging, she brushed by him. “Can we get out of here?” she asked, altogether ignoring his plea for forgiveness, which only further aided in making him feel the heel. What the hell would he have to do, get on his knees? “How’s Jean?” “Holding up rather well, actually. The girls are here with her now. 36

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And the grandkids—they’ll keep her preoccupied—which is good. It might even help her forget, if even just for a moment.” “I’ll need to question her again.” “For crying out loud, KC! It’s all about work with you, isn’t it?” KC stuck his hands deep in his pocket and looked to the ground, not even defending his actions. Shar shook her head in obvious disgust. “Do you think you could give her a few days? The last thing she needs is endless questions about the days spent before her husband’s disappearance.” He snapped his gaze back to hers. “I’m a detective, Shar. It’s what I do. You’ve worked with the sheriff’s office long enough to know that the first forty-eight hours are the most critical in any investigation.” “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” “I won’t question her tonight if it will make you feel better.” For some reason, he wasn’t about to let her know he had no intentions of doing so in the first place. No, that would make him noble in her eyes. “Thank you.” She offered a slight smile. Embracing her is what he felt more like doing, soothing away her pain. Hell, soothing himself. Instead, he pulled his hands from his pockets and dried his sweating palms on the legs of his jeans. “For what?” “For not going back in there tonight.” “I may be cold, Shar,” KC grumbled, “but I’m still human. Now let’s get the hell out of here.” Without so much as touching her like he wanted to do, KC led her to the Blazer. “How about getting a drink? You look like you could use one.” * * * Moments later KC sat across from Shar in a booth, a scarred oak table between them. Drinking a couple of drafts and munching on peanuts, they tossed the shells to the floor. As patrons and waitresses walked by, the crunch beneath their feet carried through the small room. Billy Ray Cyrus blared through the speakers as smoke danced 37

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and swirled above the heads of the gathering few. KC liked this place. The dark interior felt like home and it was rarely crowded. Hell, truth be told, he probably spent more time here than he did at his log cabin in the woods. General Lee’s had become the sheriff’s office hangout. When off duty, most of the deputies, though they were few, hung here. But KC kept pretty much to himself. Shar sipped from her beer, her spirits seemingly higher than twenty minutes earlier. A bit of color had returned to her cheeks, blushing them. Even after a long, hard day, she was still stunning. “Feeling better?” KC asked, wanting to take his mind off what went on between the sheets and how much he’d like to be there right this minute. She smiled; the simple act affecting him nearly and as thoroughly as if her hand had stroked him. Damn, but it had been a mistake bringing her here. “Yes”—she tucked one side of her hair behind her ear—“thank you. Sometimes it’s hard to separate myself from the job. When a young girl is raped, it’s me they send. When a wife is battered and needs to go to court, I’m there to hold her hand. And, of course, I’ll be there to hold Jean’s when you find George’s killer and she needs to see justice served. Actually…I don’t think I ever mastered the skill of separating my everyday-self from the job.” “That’s probably what makes you so good at what you do. You truly care about the people you help.” “And you don’t?” She had an uncanny way with turning the conversation and making it about him. And KC did not want to discuss his life, be it public or private. He could say he cared and be the hero she wanted him to be, or he could tell her that he cared for no one. He opted for the latter. “I can’t afford to,” KC mumbled. Unable to look her in the eye, his gaze traveled to his beer. He took a long pull, draining half the mug. “I don’t suppose you can. Maybe that’s what makes you so good at 38

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what you do.” KC shook his head at the irony—she had just managed to make his words honorable. Not his intention at all. For some reason, since KC had known Shar, she had always viewed him through rose-colored glasses. What would happen when those glasses fell off and she saw the true KC Tanner? His gaze flitted back. He didn’t know what he had expected her to say, but certainly not that she understood. Hell, he expected her to rant and rave and tell him how cold and void of feeling he was. “Emotions can’t enter into what I do. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to stomach half of what I see.” “There hasn’t been a lot of bad crime in McCreary County.” “No,” he agreed. “And thank the good Lord for that.” It was Shar’s turn to glance at her drink. Her cheeks flamed. “If there is one.” He crinkled his brow. “You don’t believe in Him? You’re father raised you a Catholic, Shar.” When her gaze came back to his, a sadness rested in the depths that he hadn’t seen before. “It’s not something I care to talk about, KC. When my mother died years ago, I lost my faith.” Although KC had been raised Baptist, he hadn’t been much of a Christian, missing more Sunday’s than making them. He had no right to judge, and thought it best to drop the subject. Shar absently toyed with the napkin beneath her drink. “You think Jean is going to be all right?” “Jean’s a strong woman. She’ll be fine.” “How would you feel if something like that happened to Kate?” Hell, he didn’t love Kate—not the way Jean loved George, but he wasn’t about to tell Shar that. He cared for Kate, deeply, he just wasn’t in love with her; the whole reason KC never offered marriage. Marriage was supposed to be between two people who deeply loved each other, like his parents. And since KC did not have it in him to love 39

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anyone, he had resigned himself to being a bachelor. “I guess I’d mourn.” “The same way you did when your parents died?” His jaw hardened. He knew curiosity had always gotten the better of Shar, but the subject of his parents had been off limits for six years—to everyone, including Mac. And Shar knew that. KC did not want to talk about it. “I suppose. Although losing Kate would be a bit different—I haven’t had a lifetime to get to know her.” “Speaking of Kate, why aren’t you with her tonight?” Although he could tell her that his relationship with Kate had run its course, that for weeks he had been looking for a way to gracefully end it, instead he said, “Bridge club. We’ll get together this weekend.” Shar’s shoulders sank minutely, but enough that KC noticed, telling him it wasn’t what she had hoped to hear. She sipped the last of her drink, then said, “Maybe I should be getting home. Daddy will worry about me.” A dull ache gripped his gut. KC hadn’t wanted the night to end. He had actually enjoyed being with Shar, no matter how wrong it might be. The smell of her perfume; the warmth of her smile. Although he couldn’t afford to be anything but brotherly toward her, the slight throb of his groin reminded him of his true desires—and they sure in the hell had nothing to do with being brotherly. His gaze traveled to her soft lips, glistening in the low lighting. Her tongue darted out and captured the moisture left behind from her drink. The gesture, though innocent, was enough to send him through the roof. KC shifted uneasily, attempting to adjust the front of his jeans that had suddenly become too damn constraining. Hell, he wanted nothing more than to take her back to his little cabin and crawl on top of her, wrapping her long, slender legs about his waist, and driving home. This was Mac’s daughter, for chrissake. He had no business entertaining lewd thoughts about her. Angry with himself, he tossed 40

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back what was left of his drink, slammed the heavy glass on the table and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here and get you back to where you belong.” “And where do you think I belong, KC?” Beneath me. But instead of voicing his thoughts, he said, “Wherever that ornery father of yours hangs his hat.” “I won’t always belong to Mac, you know.” “Christ, don’t tell him that,” KC grumbled, then escorted her from General Lee’s, and quickly. The faster he got her home and out of his sight, the better off he would be. * * * Shar sat near KC on the bucket seat of the Blazer, wanting nothing more than to place her hand on his powerful thigh and see how the uptight detective might react. But she knew, had she acted on impulse, KC would likely stop the truck and make her walk the rest of the way home. One minute he ran cold, the next hot. She had no idea from one minute to the next which KC she might encounter. Sitting with him at General Lee’s, Shar had caught him staring at her mouth, as though he had wanted to kiss her, then next glaring at her like she had just yanked the rug from beneath his feet. She had never quite mastered being able to read him, and doubted she ever would. KC Tanner was an enigma. Bad Boy. Shar had read her share of articles in Cosmopolitan, Vogue, and the like. Women preferred men they thought they could tame. But Shar knew the truth to it—you simply could not change a man and KC would be no exception. So why was she so darned attracted to him? Glancing at his profile, the dashboard softly illuminating it, she could see the stern set of his mouth, the creases in his forehead, the death grip he had on the steering wheel. KC obviously would rather be anywhere but sitting in a vehicle next to her. The question, though, was why? KC had always been at ease in her 41

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presence until recently, making her wonder what had changed. The SUV tires crunched to a stop on the gravel outside of her house. All lights were out but the one on the porch and her father’s truck was nowhere in sight. “Maybe I should walk you to the door.” Shar’s nearest neighbor lived just around the bend. And since this had been her home her entire life, fear never entered her mind when she would walk to the house by herself, though the surrounding woods could be foreboding if you let your imagination get the best of you. But allowing KC to walk her to the door appealed to her, not to mention it kept his company a bit longer. “I’d appreciate it. Thanks.” After helping her from the cab, he led her up the long path to the door. Shar stopped on the first step beneath the overhang of the porch, bringing them eye level. KC clenched his jaw, making her wonder what path his thoughts had taken. Finally, he said, “I’ll see you in the morning,” then turned to make what looked like a speedy retreat. Shar laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. The muscles bunched beneath her touch. “KC,” she whispered. He turned, but before he could say a word, Shar kissed him. She traced the taut line of his lips with her tongue, softening it, coaxing his mouth to open to her. His answering groan died within her mouth and fueled her actions. His hands slipped beneath her hair at her nape and crushed her to him. Their tongues mated primitively, and much like hot water on ice, her body melted, barely able to keep her knees from buckling. She fisted his shirt, holding onto him for dear life, afraid that if she let go he’d make a run for his Blazer. His hands moved to her waist, first tightly molding her body to his, then just as quickly pushing her away. Shar blinked in confusion, trying to clear the passion-induced fog his kiss had caused. Her fingers touched her tingling lips. Oh, she had affected him all right, of that much she was certain. His 42

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breathing came in short, shallow pants, his pulse beat heavily in the base of his throat, and his eyes had darkened to nearly black in color. There was no doubt he had kissed her back. Shar would stake her life that she had finally gotten beneath his cold exterior and he had enjoyed every moment. * * * KC stumbled back a few steps. Dear God, what the hell had he just allowed? He almost expected a bolt of lightning to strike him dead where he stood. And had Mac picked that exact moment to appear, they’d both be dead. But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that brief kiss had rocked him to the core. He needed to put distance between them—and a lot of it. Hell, he needed to run for the hills. “I better go,” he muttered, not wanting to see the loss in her eyes a moment longer. From here on out, he would have to be careful and not allow her another opportunity. Being alone with Shar could be likened to placing raw meat in the face of a hungry tiger. And KC was ravenous. “I guess this is the part where I’m suppose to say I’m sorry…” At least she had the decency to admit as much, KC thought with a humph. “… but I’m not.” He swiped a hand across his perspiring brow. The erection straining the front of his jeans demanded appeasement. Damn Mac for sending him to pick her up. This wasn’t his fault by a long shot. “Well, you should be,” KC growled. “Why? It’s obvious you enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.” “I am not going to discuss this. I’m just going to pretend it didn’t happen.” “It did.” Shar grinned. The devil’s daughter or the Lord’s fallen angel—precisely which, KC had yet to figure out. “Look, Shar—” 43

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She shook her head and held up a hand, staying his words. “I know, this is the part where you tell me, ‘it’s been nice.’” “Dammit, Shar, there’s nothing here to walk away from. What the hell do you mean ‘it’s been nice’?” KC narrowed his gaze at the irony. “You really are something, you know that?” Her arms crossed beneath her breasts as she glared at him. The dim light of the moon shone across the rising flesh of her breasts that she unwittingly shoved into his view. The devil in him wanted to bury his face in the cleavage; his sensible side recognized her mounting anger and kept him where he stood. Hell, had she a ball bat, she would probably beat him to a bloody pulp—and not that he didn’t deserve it. No, sir, he deserved that and more. “Stop treating me like a child, KC.” “Then quit acting one.” The sound of her disgust traveled easily through the night, but he continued undaunted. It was better that she hated him. “For months you have been pursuing me like a demon at my heels. When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that you and I are never going to happen?” And then for emphasis, he repeated, “Never,” though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more, her or him. “You really are a son of a bitch, KC.” “Amen—give the lady a prize. Now tell me something I don’t know.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Ever since my father brought you into our house fifteen years ago, I put you on a pedestal. I thought you could do no wrong. Now I see how wrong I was. The only person you care about, KC Tanner, is yourself. And you can go to hell.” Shocked at her parting words, though he shouldn’t be, he stood rigid, watching as she turned on her heel, marched into the house, and slammed the door. Good thing it hung on a solid frame, otherwise it might have gone clear through the wood and smacked KC in the face as 44

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hard as she had slammed it. He should be ecstatic. He had accomplished in one night what he had sought to do since she had come home from college. So why in the hell did it have to feel so bad? Walking off, he kicked a stone in her driveway, feeling like the kid he had just accused her of being. * * * KC jumped from the cab of the Blazer, beneath the glaring lights of the gas station. All he really wanted to do was go home, crawl in bed and forget the last few hours. Maybe now that he had alienated Shar he could get on with his mundane and uneventful life and concentrate on the case before him. Who knew, maybe even Kate would begin to appeal to him again. After all, Kate was what beauty queens were made of. He should be proud to call her his girlfriend. But ever since Shar came bulldozing back into his life, sexy as hell, he had begun doubting what he shared with Kate. And that kiss? Well, he wasn’t even about to think about it. Hell, he couldn’t—not without a painful erection accompanying it. “Kevin Charles,” a deep voice spoke, breaking into his musings. Glad for the reprieve, KC peered around the pumps. Pastor Thomas Jackson stood with one foot planted on the cement curb, filling his car with gas. No one else in Pine Knot would think to call KC by his given name. Most people didn’t even know it. KC walked around the pump and held out his hand, which the Pastor shook. “Pastor Jackson.” “Haven’t seen you in church lately,” he said, his tone accusatory. “Has it been that obvious?” KC asked, earning him a deep chuckle from the robust minister. Pastor rubbed a hand along his bushy white beard, looking quite close to a real-life Santa. He had actually been known, since his arrival in town two years ago, to dress up as Kris Kringle a time or two, although not for church functions. “Now you know, Kevin, my congregation is small, so it isn’t too 45

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hard for me to know who is and isn’t there.” “I wouldn’t suppose,” KC grumbled. Then, uncomfortable and not wanting to hear what a bad Christian he had become, he quickly added, “Well…it’s been nice seeing you again.” “Will I see you this Sunday?” Obviously Thomas Jackson wasn’t going to allow him the reprieve. “God has no use for the lazy and the idolaters.” KC shrugged. He knew Pastor Jackson had not called him lazy, because KC was far from it. To the contrary, KC had become a workaholic. The Pastor was more than likely pointing out that KC worshipped the almighty St. Mattress instead. And although he stood before his minister, somehow he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth, telling him that, come Sunday morning, he would not likely be sitting in the pews. He opted for a half-truth. “Maybe.” “Something seems to be bothering you, Kevin. Care to unload your troubles on the Lord?” KC’s gaze snapped up. Had he been so obvious? He had allowed Shar to get beneath the thick layers he had so carefully erected over the years. He would have to be careful in the future not to allow it to happen again. “It’s nothing. Probably something I shouldn’t be worrying over.” “You know you can talk to me about it—it’s what I do, Kevin. Part of being a minister is attending to my flock. My door is always open.” He weighed his options. He could continue keeping to himself and holding all the pain inside or he could talk about what ailed him, the latter being something to which he was unaccustomed. Maybe the time to get everything off his chest had come to pass. Maybe the Lord had offered him a way to heal through the Reverend Thomas Jackson. “You know what, Pastor, I think you might be right. Maybe talking is exactly what I need.” “Come by anytime. Tomorrow good for you?” “As long as that door’s still open when I get off of work.” 46

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“Anytime, Kevin. Just give the secretary, Martha, a call and let her know when you think you might be stopping by, so I can be sure to be in.” “I’ll call,” KC said, then walked away to pay the attendant. Just the thought of sharing his troubled musings already seemed to lighten his burden. As a matter of fact, he might even get a good night’s sleep.

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CHAPTER 5

The following morning, KC walked into Mac’s office before heading out for a quick bite, then back to the crime scene. He wanted to make sure every stone had been turned and possibly even stumble over the missing St. Christopher medal that Mac seemed to have misplaced. A valuable piece of evidence that KC wanted found. His gut instinct told him it might very well be a piece that would help solve the puzzle. “I’m heading out for lunch—want anything?” KC asked as he stepped into the office. Mac sat behind his desk, feet propped up, a wad of tobacco tucked between his cheek and gum. It was a wonder that Mac hadn’t developed gum disease. “Nope. Shar’s offered to bring lunch to me today.” Mac’s smile spoke volumes. Daddy’s little girl. Hell, at this point, KC felt sorry for any man Shar might bring home, because whoever he might be, he would never be good enough for Mac. And KC wasn’t about to ponder on what Mac might think of 48

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that kiss Shar had bestowed on him last night or the fact that he had responded. Just thinking about it brought a dull ache to his groin. He silently cursed himself for even calling it to mind. “Seems she wants to spend a little time with her ol’ man.” Mac spit a stream of goo into the waste can sitting beside the desk, then stood and walked to the window. More like run into me, KC wisely kept to himself. “You find that medal yet?” Mac shook his head, crossed his booted feet and leaned one arm against the four-drawer filing cabinet. “Sorry, KC. I looked everywhere. I don’t know what the hell could have come of it. You seen me, I placed it right here.” He patted his shirt pocket. “I’m not normally prone to misplacing stuff. I can’t imagine where it might have gone.” The grumble managed to stay beneath KC’s breath. He certainly did not want Mac to hear his own feelings about misplacing evidence. “I’ll go back to the site. Maybe you dropped it.” Mac’s cheeks reddened. “Yeah, maybe—” Shar walked into the office interrupting him, a large picnic basket in hand, her blue pumps clicking on the tiled floor. Had KC been paying attention and not reflecting on the night before, he would have heard her long before she entered Mac’s domain and might have spared himself having to look her in the eyes. The aroma of fried chicken filled the air and set KC’s stomach to growling. Shar used her late mother’s recipe for Southern Fried Chicken, and everyone knew it was nearly the finest chicken to be gotten in these parts. Although his mouth had begun to salivate, he certainly did not want Shar offering her packed lunch to him. No, sir, he didn’t even want to be in the same room with her. And sharing her fried chicken would do neither of them any good. But instead of Shar hearing his rumble and commenting, the invite came from Mac. “KC, you sound like you need a little nourishment. 49

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Care to join us? I’m sure my little angel has packed enough to feed the entire office.” “No, thanks,” KC said quickly, before realizing that Shar had yet to look at him, let alone acknowledge him. As a matter of fact, the navy blue suit she wore seemed a bit proper compared to what she had taken to wearing lately. Hell, it didn’t even afford him any view of her cleavage. “I was hoping, Daddy, that we could spend some time alone,” Shar clipped in a tone that grated on KC’s every nerve, as if spending time in his company had now become distasteful. Just yesterday, KC knew Shar would have welcomed any offer to be near him, be it in her father’s presence or out. Normally, she jumped through hoops just to get his attention, not rid herself of it. He had been trying for some time to keep Shar’s focus elsewhere, not be the central point of it. And now that he had finally managed the job, it felt like a gaping hole lay in the center of his chest. Had he truly pushed her too far? Hell, KC should be happy that Shar stopped looking at him like a meal ready to be eaten. But she had been doing it for so long he had become accustomed to it, even taken it for granted. Now that she was treating him with the indifference he had worked hard to achieve, he didn’t like it—not one bit. “Damn, Shar, you think it would be so bad if I elected to accept your father’s invitation and eat some of your precious fried chicken?” Shar glared at him, so glacial it nearly froze him where he stood. Mac glanced between the two of them, his forehead furrowed. Much more and he would be asking questions—questions KC was ill prepared to answer. “Isn’t there somewhere else you need to be? Someone else to eat with…like Kate?” Shar hissed his girlfriend’s name. The intercom buzzed on the desk, thankfully interrupting the conversation. Mac continued to look from KC to Shar in puzzlement 50

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before walking to the intercom and punching the button. “Yes?” Mac’s secretary’s voice came through the tiny speaker, “There’s an Reese Walker here to see you. Says he needs to talk with you. It’s important.” “Send him to the conference room, Sally. I’ll meet him there in a few minutes.” He pushed the button again, ending the transfer. “I don’t know what the hell it is with you two lately, but when I get back, I’m going to want answers.” KC watched as Mac strode from the office, his back ramrod straight, and shut the door behind him. He had no intentions of still being anywhere in the vicinity when Mac returned. This was Shar’s mess and he intended on letting her handle this one on her own. KC turned to leave. “Coward,” Shar mumbled. “Excuse me?” KC nearly roared, turning around. “I called you a coward.” Shar squared her shoulders and stiffened her spine. “I don’t know what little course your mind took this time, Shar…nor do I think I want to. But I sure in the hell am no coward.” “I beg to differ, KC. But I’m not about to waste my time explaining it to you. You can be such an ass sometimes.” “Last night you didn’t think so,” he accused, advancing on Shar, backing her against Mac’s desk. He’d love nothing better than to flip up her skirt and prove to her how much she wasn’t indifferent to him. He could tell how she felt by the heavy throb of her pulse, evident in the hollow point of her throat. She swallowed, unable to look him in the eye. He narrowed his gaze. “As I recall, you kissed me.” * * * Shar leaned back from KC as far as the desk would allow. She had meant to ignore him, meant to show him that she didn’t need him in her life. He had accused her of acting like a child, and maybe she had. But 51

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if KC wanted a grown up Shar, then she’d give him one. But this Shar wanted nothing more to do with KC Tanner. She would prove to him he was no longer imperative to her next drawn breath. “Last night shouldn’t have happened,” she said, her nerves singing at his nearness. As much as she didn’t want KC’s closeness to affect her, her body reminded her of the impossibility of the job at hand. “You’re damn right it shouldn’t. But as always you just took the liberties.” Shar shoved KC, putting space between them. “Oh, and what you are trying to tell me is that you didn’t enjoy the kiss. Is that right, KC? Have I about summed it up?” “I didn’t want the kiss, nor did I enjoy it.” “Then you’re not only an ass, but a liar. What do you think Kate would have said if she had witnessed it? You think she would have thought you weren’t enjoying it?” KC’s jaw tightened; a muscle ticked in his cheek. Shar laughed falsely. “What, KC—you think I might tell her?” “You wouldn’t dare!” “You’re right, KC, because I no longer care what you and your prima donna do with yourselves. Get married for all I care. I’ll even come to the wedding.” “Don’t flatter yourself, Shar. You wouldn’t be invited.” Shar smiled, this time advancing on KC and backing him against the wall. “Why, KC? Afraid you’ll see you married the wrong woman?” And with that, Shar placed her palms on either side of his whiskerroughened cheeks and kissed him hard. Not deep like it had been the night before, but soul-stirring nonetheless. When she backed off, she looked him in the eyes, clearly seeing his desire within the depths, proving to her that KC Tanner was in serious denial. He wanted Shar, but now she would make sure he paid hell getting her. 52

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“Enjoy that one, Detective, because it’s likely the last one you’ll ever get from me,” she said, then walked out the door, adding a saucy sway to her hips. Mac and KC could fight over the fried chicken for all she cared. * * * KC stared at the picnic basket, knowing full well Mac would have plenty of questions when he returned. And he was not about to answer a single one. Being the coward Shar had just accused him of being, he walked out of the office and passed the conference room on his way to the front of the station. Reese Walker could be heard through the closed door. “Well, you better damn well do something about it!” he shouted, then threw open the wooden door, sending it crashing against the brick wall, and stormed past KC without a word. Although he wanted to ask Mac what the hell that was all about, KC thought it best to let Mac stew on his own problems for the time being. KC would come back long after Mac forgot about the display he and Shar had put on in front of him. * * * KC sat in an over-stuffed nylon pillow-back chair, one large enough to get swallowed in. His fingers drummed on the armrest as he thought that maybe this whole idea of spilling his soul was a mistake. One big mistake. The time to make a quick escape left, however, as Pastor Jackson entered his office. One wall sported several bookcases filled with volumes of books of various sizes and shapes. A computer desk occupied another wall with plaques and certificates proudly displayed above it, while a large ornate-carved cherry desk stood in the center of the room, the one Pastor Jackson sat behind and folded his hands atop as he stared at KC. “Maybe I was wrong,” KC said as he shifted in his chair, ready to take flight. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.” 53

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The pastor nodded as though somehow understanding KC’s reluctance to talk about himself. Then finally he said, “You know Kevin, the Lord is here to shoulder your problems. All you need do is allow Him to.” “And just how am I to do that, Pastor? He knows what my problems are even before I confess them. You think talking about them will make me feel any better?” “Talking always helps, Kevin. And the Lord? Well, He’s always listening. Give it a try. Why don’t you start with what happened to your parents.” KC’s eyes widened. Pastor Jackson had only been ministering in this town about two years. How could he possibly know what had happened to KC’s parents six years ago if KC had never spoken to anyone about it? Obviously reading the question in KC’s gaze, he offered, “It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone’s business.” KC chuckled, fingering the scar by his left eye. “I guess you’re right.” “You want to talk about it?” “What’s there to talk about? They’re dead, end of story.” Pastor Jackson settled back against the Italian burgundy leather. “How do you feel about their death?” “I think it was a mistake coming here.” KC jumped to his feet. “I really don’t need to talk about my life. There isn’t a whole lot to tell. If this is about going to church on Sunday—” “Relax, Kevin”—his hand motioned for KC to retake his seat, which he did—“I’ll not badger you into being here come Sunday. That’s something the Lord is going to have to guide you to do.” “Then what is it you want?” The pastor steepled his thick fingers in front of him and smiled over the top. “I only want to help. That’s what I do for a living. I help people who are lost and guide them back to the flock. It’s obvious, Kevin, by 54

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some of the events that have taken place in your life, you have become lost. Am I far from being correct?” “No,” he agreed. Truth be told, KC had felt lost for sometime now, pouring himself into his work. No one waited for him at home except Zappa, his Doberman. So what difference did it make if he worked twelve to sixteen hour days? No one cared. And if it weren’t for feeding and putting Zappa outside to do his duties, he probably wouldn’t care either. “Let me help you find your way back to the Lord, Kevin.” “And how do you think to do that? I haven’t been in church since Christmas.” “I know.” He smiled cordially. “Now, tell me about your parents.” KC settled into the chair and glanced at his lap as he began. “I was an only child, raised pretty much here in McCreary County. My father moved us here when I was five. We always lived miles outside of town…so I didn’t make a lot of friends. I kept pretty much to myself.” “And that’s why you still do today.” It was a statement of fact, not an accusation. “I’ve been pretty much alone for most of my life, but my parents, they were always there for me. Getting me out of trouble more times than not when I was a kid.” “And how were you as a teenager? Did you get into a lot of trouble? Cause your parents a lot of grief?” KC thought back to his seventeenth year, one he did not want to remember, nor talk about—not even for the purpose of unburdening his soul. “Not any more than your average kid. I started having sex way too young, tried marijuana—that kind of thing.” Pastor Jackson only nodded, encouraging KC to continue. “I moved out of the house, got my own place when I was eighteen. Did odd jobs, but nothing that lasted, that is until I joined the sheriff’s office fourteen years ago. I was twenty-three. Mac sort of took me under his wing. He’s been my only friend since.” 55

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“And your parents?” Damn, the pastor was not about to let that go. “They were killed six years ago.” “How so, Kevin? Tell me about their death.” KC’s eyes actually watered. Hell, he didn’t want to do this, just wanted to go home and forget this stupid idea of disencumbering himself. He had to be a fool to think it might help. Clearing his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that took up residence, he said in a cracked voice, “I think I’ve said enough for now.” What the hell kind of man cried? he scolded himself. “Kevin,” Pastor Jackson said in a much sterner voice, “I can’t help you if you won’t talk about it.” “Maybe some thing’s are better left unsaid.” Hell, he had never told anyone about what had happened the night his parents died. He couldn’t, not without feeling a failure, not without the self-blame. “I disagree, Kevin, but if you don’t tell me—I guess you’ll never know. What could be so painful that you hide it behind a brick wall? Nothing can be so bad, could it?” KC laughed, though the sound was filled with the sadness and guilt that threatened to engulf him. A tear slipped past his lash and he angrily swiped it away. “I don’t know. You tell me, Pastor. My parents were killed by a drunk driver.” “It happens…you can get past this.” “Can I?” he nearly roared. “Had I hauled the son of a bitch off to the station when I stopped him for driving while intoxicated that night instead of just giving him a warning, maybe, just maybe my parents might still be alive. As it happened, the SOB drove ten more goddam miles down the road and broadsided them going nearly forty miles over the speed limit. I was the first one to arrive at the accident that night, Pastor. And you know what I saw?” Pastor Jackson leaned forward, narrowing his gaze. 56

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“My mother…Christ…” KC ran his hands down his face, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “My mother, she lay there, her neck at an odd angle, staring at me. ‘Help me,’ she said, just ‘help me.’ And to think I was the one who killed them.”

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CHAPTER 6

Reese Walker lay naked on a wooden table, unsure of where he was or how he had gotten there. He had been struck from behind as he left General Lee’s, with a whopping migraine as a reminder. He had been drinking, downright sloshed if truth be told, and had left the tavern by himself. The parking lot had been nearly empty of cars that early in the morning, with not another soul around—well, as far as he had been aware. Now, because of his lack of judgment, he lay with a burlap sack pulled over his head and a cotton rag stuffed into his mouth, which had been taped to keep him from dislodging it. What felt like leather straps held him fast to the wooden table as slivers probably dotted his backside like a bad case of small pox. Shivers wracked his body, gooseflesh littered his skin, even though the temperature had to be nearing a hundred. And had the dry rag not been wedged within his mouth, his teeth would probably chatter. Sweat rolled off his skin, surely soaking the wood beneath him. Reese wasn’t 58

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even sure how much time had elapsed since his quitting of General Lee’s. An evening, a day, two days? A small critter scurried or slithered across the flooring as rustling of something—dry grass, weeds, or the like—could be heard, his hearing made more keen by the loss of his sense of sight. A timber rattlesnake came to mind, now probably winding its yellowish-brown body up the table’s leg. His imagination nearly ran away with him as the itch on his toe became a brown recluse spider or the pinch to his side the poisonous bite of a black widow. His stomach cramped and revolted from fright slithering up his spine, and Reese feared drowning in his own vomit. Inhaling as deeply as the burlap would allow, he attempted to calm the raging bile and still the tremors traveling about his every nerve and limb. Although, there had been a few times before that he had stayed out all night playing cards at one buddy’s or another’s, surely his wife would notice him missing by now. Betty had been the portrait of prim and proper, the perfect wife. But when it came to what went on beneath the sheets, Betty was a real fireball. Yes, indeed. Most of the men his age joked about their wives, saying banging them was like screwing a hole in the mattress. Lay them on their backs, flip up their nighties and hump away. But not Betty, no, sir. Betty knew how to satisfy a man. His groin hardened at the thought of a poke with his wife. Hell, he might even chuckle had the rag not been shoved so damn far down his throat. Here he lay at the mercy of some faceless evil and he had a hard-on that rivaled a twenty-year-old’s. But just as quickly as it came, it abated. The direness of his situation sank in. He might not ever see his beautiful Betty again. Why me? he wanted to scream. What does this person want with me? His conversation with Mac came to mind. He had been receiving threatening calls, reminding him of something he had buried in his past long ago—and certainly didn’t want dug up. But Mac hadn’t seemed 59

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concerned. “Just a prank caller,” is all he had said. Prank caller, my ass, Reese thought. Someone knew of his past sins. And if given the option, Reese had no intention of going down alone. No, sir, if he ever got out of this mess, he was going to take them all down with him. A steel door screeched open, raising every coarse hair on Reese’s body. Had it not been for the grating of the door on rusted hinges, his senses would have told him he was no longer alone. He could feel the intrusion with his every pore. His heart hammered, and for a moment, Reese thought his heart would take him before the faceless soul ever would. The door slid shut, the noise grating up his spine like fingernails on a chalkboard. Reese stiffened, waiting for something, anything. A shuffle of heels being dragged over cement echoed in the surrounding building, telling Reese they were in a pole barn or something close in nature. The soles of the shoes were soft as the person approached with what sounded like a slight hitch in his or her stride. With each added step, Reese wanted to scream in abject terror. He wanted to run, to hide, but he could do nothing, just lay there. And wait. Even his nudity wasn’t much of a concern, not when his stomach churned and his blood pumped furiously through his veins. Each intake of oxygen became a struggle as a lump took up residence in his throat. Dear God. Sweat and body odor drifted to his nose, adding to his already agitated stomach, before he realized it was his own body’s perspiration he detected. The odor of alcohol, the odor of perspiration, the odor of fear. Tears rolled from the corners of his eyes and pooled in his ears as a rubber-gloved hand touched his thigh. His bowels let loose as the muscles on his leg bunched. Reese twisted and turned, but the straps 60

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would not give. He nearly gagged on the suffocating rag. Blackness threatened to engulf him. At this point, Reese would have welcomed it. The gloved hand traveled down his thigh. But the person belonging to the hand said not a word. Reese tried to swallow, but the rag kept him from doing so. His nose ran, his eyes leaked. He knew the Grim Reaper stood at his feet. Death was inevitable. But even the thought of his death couldn’t compare to the fright that shook him when the sound of the chain saw echoed through the building. * * * “What is wrong with you?” Kate asked as she laid her head on KC’s chest. Yes, what indeed was wrong with him, for crying out loud? Here he lay beside a beautiful woman, naked beneath the covers, and all he could think of was how to make a speedy retreat. He rolled to the side and slid his feet to floor, sitting up. Kate followed, her small cool hand smoothing the muscles of his back. She placed a tender kiss on his shoulder blade. “Leaving so soon?” KC stood, grasped his discarded jeans from two hours earlier and pulled them over his hips before turning to Kate. She held the sheet across her ample breast line, one he had thoroughly kissed and still bore the whisker burns to prove it. “I really should get going. I have a busy day tomorrow.” KC didn’t want a confrontation. He just wanted to get the hell out of there. He hadn’t been making love to Kate a few moments ago—no, he had pictured Shar the entire time, with her soft auburn shoulder-length curls and her chocolate-painted lips. “But tomorrow is Sunday, KC. You always spend the night with me when you come to Williamsburg for the weekend.” Her whine grated his nerves. Truth be told, it had for some time. He just refused to see it. What the hell had he been thinking anyway? Sleeping with Kate 61

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was not going to help him forget Shar or how much he wanted to slide between her slender thighs. Christ, one thought of Shar and he already sported a fresh erection. He couldn’t win. As he saw things, he could either crawl back in bed with Kate and again sate his hunger for another woman, or head for the hills, and damn quick before she noticed his new state of arousal. He opted for the retreat. “Look, Kate”—he grabbed his jean shirt and shrugged into the sleeves, refastening the buttons—“I have a big case I need to focus on. I can’t afford to be side-tracked right now.” She let the sheet fall, exposing her rose-colored nipples. Damn, she was not making this easy and she knew it as she sidled closer. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she nudged apart the shirt that he hadn’t finished buttoning and placed a lingering kiss. Her tongue lapped at the contours of his abdomen. Grasping her shoulders, he set her back. KC grinned, though he felt anything but complacent. “Sweetheart, I have to go. Really. I promised Pastor Jackson that I would be in church tomorrow morning.” Her lower lip protruded farther than normal. “You haven’t been to church since Christmas, KC—why start now?” Sitting on the edge of the bedside chair to slide his feet into his worn boots, he caught sight of the sheer gown she had worn. He tossed it to her. Not like it would shield much, but it was better than the view she afforded him now. Much more, and he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from jumping back into that bed and to hell with morals. But morals did play a part—a huge part. KC did not feel right about making love to one woman while thinking of another. He’d just have to stay far away from Kate until he purged his thoughts of Shar; that’s all there was to it. Kate thankfully pulled the gown over her platinum-blond bob. Even after a good toss in the sack, she still looked like a Barbie doll—perfect in every way. He didn’t want a doll; he wanted a woman who looked adorably rumpled and sated when he was finished. He could easily 62

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imagine Shar sitting there with her mussed riot of curls and her kissswollen lips. “Look, honey, Pastor Jackson is helping me deal with some things in my past. Going to church on Sunday is the least I can do in return.” “You think he’ll be able to help you overcome that fear of commitment?” Her eyes widened in what KC knew was misplaced hope. “If so, I’m all for it. Maybe God can get you to see what you’re missing by not putting that ring on my finger.” “You never know, Kate,” KC said as he put on his Stetson and stuck his wallet in his back pocket. Grasping his keys, he headed for the door. “No need to show me out—I think I know the way.” He heard Kate’s answering humph, and knew without a doubt she sat in the center of her big bed pouting at his rejection. Hell, if it wasn’t for keeping Shar at bay, he would have probably told Kate it was over, that it had been for a long time. Shaking his head, feeling like the dirt beneath the soles of his boots, he crawled into the cab of the Blazer and started the engine. Kate Kershaw did not deserve him—she deserved better. * * * KC walked through the open door of General Lee’s as country music filtered into the night air. He pulled off his cowboy hat and laid it atop the scarred bar, taking a seat on a padded stool. Jackie, the bartender, approached him, draft already in hand. “You look like you could use one of these tonight.” KC offered a small smile and accepted the glass as he dug deep into his pocket, pulling out some loose dollars and change. “Nope,” Jackie said, “that one’s on me. Drink up.” “Thanks,” KC said before taking a long pull from his glass, downing nearly half of it. “Mac been in?” “He’s still around somewhere. Maybe back playing pool. You want me to look him up for you?” “He’ll find me.” KC toyed with the change laying on the counter. 63

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He had obviously come here out of habit, because he certainly didn’t feel like conversing. He should have headed straight for his cabin and kept ol’ Zappa company. At least with Zappa he didn’t have to talk. Just take a few wet kisses, throw a stick a few times, then pour him a bowl full of food. A familiar sound carried through the room, heard above the twangs of the guitar riff. KC could recognize the fine melody of Shar’s laughter anywhere. What the hell was she doing in General Lee’s? He turned on his barstool to see her sitting in a booth next to Defense Attorney Sidney Kurtz. Not across from, but next to, and quite cozily, he might be tempted to add. What the hell was Shar thinking? Not only was Sidney a slimeball, but old enough to be her father. Sidney had at least four years on KC. His blonde hair was slicked back from his prominent brow, looking like an oil spill in the Atlantic. He could probably bottle the stuff and use it on his next tune up, for chrissake. KC turned on his stool as his stomach knotted and twisted like a vice with each ring of Shar’s laughter. He glanced at himself in the mirror over the bar. His black hair was combed back like Sidney’s, but because of the lack of oil or gel, a few strays were ever-present across his forehead. His deep brown eyes were nondescript, not like Sidney’s piercing blue orbs, which he hid behind a pair of rimless eyeglasses. He supposed muscular wise he outweighed Sidney by a good thirty pounds. Where Sidney was trim, KC was broad. Taking another pull of his glass and wondering why he compared himself to the likes of the attorney, he finished off the glass, grabbed his hat and made ready to leave the bar and the sight of Shar’s hand resting on Sidney’s thigh behind. As he stood, he ran into Mac’s robust chest. “What’s your hurry, boy?” The sheriff chuckled. “Sit and have a beer with me.” KC found himself using the same excuse he had given Kate. “I have church in the morning.” 64

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Mac nearly choked on the wad of tobacco stuck between his cheek and gum as he took that moment to switch sides, sending him into a coughing fit. Finally, he said, “Shit, warn me next time, will you, KC?” Jackie brought them both another draft over. KC shoved a few of the dollars laying in front of him in her direction. “Warn you about what?” “Before you go and make a joke like that.” “No joke.” KC drank from the frosty glass, then wiped the foam from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “I ran into Pastor Jackson—he made me see the error of my ways.” KC stole another look over his shoulder. Shar had been glaring in his direction, but as soon as she caught his glance, she turned her head as though she hadn’t been looking at him at all. His best bet would be to ignore her little display. “Reese Walker,” KC said as he looked at Mac. “What about him?” “He was in your office yesterday. What did he want?” Mac shrugged, then grumbled, “Just some personal issues. Nothing for you to be concerned about.” “Just seemed like he was mighty upset when I was leaving the office yesterday.” Mac took a small swallow of his beer. “Ain’t any of your concern.” KC shifted in his chair. Mac and KC had been friends for well-over ten years. Long enough to know when something was bothering him. “You want to talk about it?” “Nope.” Mac spit a wad of goo into a Styrofoam cup he had set on the bar. Shar’s laughter lifted above the chorus of “Who’s Sorry Now,” breaking the sudden tension between him and Mac and drawing both of their gazes. “Shit,” Mac cursed. “Not happy about that?” KC asked as he turned around. They 65

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looked at one another in the large mirror, then down at the scarred bar. Mac looked at KC. “Hell, would you be?” KC chuckled. “Sidney Kurtz? Pretty boy? I wouldn’t want him dating Zappa. I thought Shar had better sense than that.” “I did, too.” Mac shook his head. “When did she start dating him?” “He asked her out yesterday. Damnedest thing, though. He’s been chasing her tail for some time and she never looked at him twice. Who the hell knows what made her finally give in.” KC thought he had an idea, but knew Mac wouldn’t take kindly to his theory. “It’s just a passing fancy.” “It better damn well be. I’ll break that little sucker in two if he lays one hand on my Shar.” KC’s gaze traveled back to Shar. It wasn’t Sidney’s hand at the moment Mac had to worry about. Shar’s hand slid a minute inch up Sidney’s thigh as she caught KC’s stare. Hell, much more and KC would break Sidney in two himself. The little pecker probably sported an erection beneath his neatly pressed pants. Gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw, he glanced back at Mac. “I have to get the hell out of here.” Mac chuckled. “I know, you have church in the morning.” “Yeah.” KC grinned, though he felt anything but jovial. He slammed back the rest of the draft, placed his hat on his head, and walked from the tavern without another look in Shar’s direction. What was she thinking? Sidney Kurtz? The man was a worm, for chrissake. And if Shar wasn’t careful, she might just find herself slithering in the dirt with the county’s most hated defense attorney. Sidney had gotten off more dirtbags on technicalities than Reagan had jellybeans. With a grumble, KC jumped into his SUV and headed home.

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CHAPTER 7

KC finished downing his second cup of black coffee when the phone rang. He checked the clock: seven-seventeen. He still had a few minutes to spare before he dashed out the door and headed for the office. He snatched up the receiver on the second ring. “Hello.” “KC…Mac here.” “This couldn’t wait?” KC chuckled. “Another forty minutes and I would have been to the office and you could have told me in person.” “This definitely couldn’t wait. I want you to head over to the Miller farmstead.” “The abandoned place just outside of Whitley City?” “That’s the one.” KC noted an audible shake in Mac’s voice. Something wasn’t right. Mac had nerves of steel, even in the hairiest of situations. “The old pole barn that sits out back.” Mac cleared his throat. “We got a real problem on our hands.” 67

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“What the hell is it, Mac?” “Gracie Carmichael came in this morning, all shaken up—said she noticed something was different about the place. It’s been abandoned for years; since ol’ man Miller passed on, anyway. She was on her daily walk—walks by there everyday, faithfully.” “For crying out loud, Mac, would you spit it out already. I don’t need Gracie’s schedule. What the hell is going on?” “Maybe you ought to just get over there. I’ll call the coroner’s office and meet you.” The line went dead. KC’s stomach flipped in his abdomen and his ears began to ring. “The coroner,” Mac had said. Could it be possible they had another murder on their hands? Two victims found within days of each other. This was McCreary County, for crying out loud. What the hell was going on? KC grabbed his keys from the hook by the door and practically ran to the Blazer, leaving Zappa barking at him from the porch. His adrenaline surged as he threw the SUV into gear, turned on the sirens, and sped down the driveway, stones flying in his wake. * * * KC pulled into the narrow lane that led back to the abandoned homestead. To him, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Dried weeds grew past the dying shrubs. Glass from the cracked and broken windowpanes glittered on the ground. It looked as if no one had been here, not in a long time. Rumors said the place was haunted. But KC didn’t believe in ghosts anymore now than he had when he was a kid. Ol’ man Miller passed on to the afterlife; he wasn’t hanging around Whitley City trying to scare up trouble, KC thought with a chuckle. He stopped the Blazer several yards from the house, flashers still going, not wanting to disturb any tire tracks that might be imbedded in the gravel and dried dirt. But since it hadn’t rained in days, it was unlikely they’d find any. He scanned the area, seeing nothing out of place. An old pole barn 68

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sat adjacent to the house, about fifty yards back, but still visible from the road. A metal door, which appeared rusted in its position, was cracked open, large enough that a body could have slipped through. Gracie could have easily noticed the opening from the road, and if it had been closed before, he could see how it might catch her attention. Donning a pair of rubber gloves, KC slid the door further to the side; the wheels on the track above him squealed in frustration. The smell and heat coming from inside nearly knocked him on his backside. He wanted to gulp for fresh air, but knew there was none to be found and the added intake would only aide in sending him to his knees in dry heaves. The dimness of the barn had yet to afford him a view; his eyes slowly adjusted to the difference in light. The scent alone told him something inside had definitely died. He didn’t need the addition of sight to come up with that revelation. Crunching gravel sounded behind him, causing him to glance back. The sheriff skidded his car to a halt, exited, and trotted over to KC. “What do we have?” Mac asked, his complexion pale. His hands trembled slightly as he grasped his pack of tobacco from his shirt pocket and stuffed a pinch between cheek and gum. “Hell, you’re the one who called me, not the other way around. You tell me.” “I’m going by poor Gracie Carmichael’s description. And let me tell you, she’s one shaken up little ol’ lady. I thought we’d have a heart attack victim on our hands with the way she grabbled at her chest. Took me and Shar damn near a half an hour just to calm her down and get the story.” Mac poked his head through the opening. “Jesus. Damn good thing I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.” “Hell, it’s the coffee I’m worried about keeping down.” “Any idea who it is?” “Your guess is as good as mine.” “Well what the hell you waiting on then, boy?” 69

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“I thought I’d give you the honors.” “Be my guest—you were here first.” He pushed on KC’s shoulder as though to prove his point. KC shook his head and stepped into the opening. He didn’t know what he expected, but certainly not the site before him. The bile rose in his throat as he brought the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to still the rolling of his stomach. Normally fresh air would do as much, but there was simply none to be gotten. Mac stepped behind him and whistled through his teeth. “Oh, Mother of God.” A body, hung by the neck, slowly spun as it dangled from the metal rafters, the slight breeze coming in through the opened door causing the draft. But that was not what caught and held either of their attentions or sent Mac to crossing himself. They had seen hangings before—after all, this was the south. The thing that had KC emptying his stomach in a nearby five-gallon bucket was the absence of the body’s legs and arms. His heaving abdomen now calmed, KC used a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. “Christ!” One arm lay atop a lone table centered in the room, hand up. Another had been tossed to the side, minus its hand, which lay at the edge of the table. One foot lay about twelve feet from the hand as the now-unattached leg lay across the room. The final leg, Reese’s wooden leg, stood off to the side, as if whoever had done this had neatly set it against the wall. Some of the thicker pools of blood congealed on the table and floor. And damn near every other surface was speckled with dried blood and pieces of flesh. “Did you have any idea?” When Mac didn’t respond, he glanced back at him. Mac stood staring at the corpse. His complexion drained of the remaining color. KC’s gaze quickly followed, landing on the purplish, bloated face of Reese Walker as it spun into view. The breath left his chest; his heart seemed unwilling to beat. Had an anvil hit the cement 70

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floor, KC doubted he would have been able to hear it over the roaring of the blood through his veins. Finally he turned to Mac. “What the hell does this have to do with you?” Mac blinked a few times, as though digesting KC’s accusations. Finally, with a shake of his head, he narrowed his gaze at KC. “You accusing me of something, boy?” “I’m saying that Reese Walker was in your office on Friday making demands for you to do something about it. Today”—he jabbed a finger at the swinging corpse—“I find him swinging from the rafters, drawn and quartered. I want answers, Mac, and I want them now.” “I don’t think now is the time to be discussing this, KC. It can wait until after we process the crime scene. I called in Miller and Crawford to meet and help with the evidence collecting—and by the looks of it, there’s a lot that needs collecting. The coroner should be on their tails.” KC granted Mac the reprieve, but back at the office, he would get the answer he sought: what the hell had been going on between Mac and Reese Walker? Changing the subject, Mac asked, “I wonder how Miller will react to what went on in his granddaddy’s pole barn?” As if calling him up, they heard approaching footsteps. Mac and KC looked back at the two deputies. Both men turned white as a sheet as they stared in awe at the swinging Reese. Bob Miller went running for the door with his hand over his mouth. “Use the damn bucket, Miller,” KC called after him. He didn’t want any more of his crime scene contaminated. They had a mess, is what they had. After retrieving several boxes, bags, plastic and paper, body bags, vials and the like from the Blazer, KC began his tedious work. The coroner, Doc Johnson, had already came and left, looking none too healthy, and said he would send someone to pick up the body, what was left of it, when they had completed their work. But Doc had 71

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commented, before walking out of the barn as fast as his little feet would carry him, that Reese Walker was definitely deceased. Several vials were filled with the congealing blood; dried flakes were scraped into envelopes. Additional paper envelopes were used for collecting dirt and other found possible oddities. All tagged and numbered as evidence. The smaller of the body parts were placed in paper bags to preserve any evidence that might be found. Plastic wasn’t used where any moisture might draw condensation and further contaminate evidence. The larger pieces of the body were each stored in separate body bags. Miller had taken the pictures and KC had measured and triangulated the body and crime scene with his help. Crawford dusted for prints as Mac snooped around. All in all, it was going to be an all-day job. “Well look what I have here,” Mac said as he poked his head around the corner of a makeshift stall. KC looked up from the hand that lay at the foot of the table. “What’s that, Mac?” “I think I got us a murder weapon.” KC approached the sheriff, careful not to step in any of the pooled blood. Behind the wooden barrier laid a chain saw, full of dried blood and bits of flesh. “Miller,” KC called. “Get me a cardboard box from the Blazer. The largest one I carry.” Miller jogged out of the building as KC turned back to Mac. “You think it will tell us anything?” Mac rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Depends on how ignorant the SOB is. Let’s just hope he’s a real dim bulb.” After placing the chain saw carefully in the box, KC allowed Mac to carry it to the Blazer as he went back to the hand lying at the foot of the table. He snapped opened a large paper envelope, gingerly picked up the hand by the pinkie, then noticed something clutched within the fingers. Loose hair. 72

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As though maybe the hand had gotten a grip on something before it had been severed. KC hoped it had been the murderer’s scalp. Pure adrenaline surged though his veins. Nothing thrilled him more than solving a puzzle, of which he would lay bets that he had just been handed a large missing piece. * * * Shar sat in her office, her hands still trembling from the story Gracie Carmichael had bestowed on her and her father. She had taken Gracie to the hospital to be checked over for possible shock. Anyone would be in shock after seeing a body hanging from the rafters minus arms and legs, let alone a woman in her advanced years. And Gracie had to be nearing eighty. But the doctor had given her a mild sedative and sent Mrs. Carmichael home. She would be fine, he had said. Shar took a sip from her coffee as Sidney Kurtz walked into her office, all smiles. Funny, although Sidney was attractive, and she could certainly say she enjoyed being in his company, her heart did not miss a beat as it so often did when KC arrived. “Hi, doll,” Sidney said, taking a seat on the corner of her desk. His pants were perfectly pleated and he smelled wonderfully of musk. Not a hair seemed out of place, combed smoothly back from a brow that looked nowhere near receding. “Hungry?” Shar set her cup on the desk. “I don’t know, Sid”—he had insisted on her using the nickname—“I think you might have to excuse me. I’m really not in a very pleasant mood.” “All the better to surround yourself with friends.” He stood and held out his hand as though not taking no for an answer. “Come on, you’ll make yourself sick if you don’t eat. You’re already thin as a rail.” She stared at his hand, almost tempted to take him up on his offer, but declined anyway, wanting to rush to the Sheriff’s Office when Mac and KC returned with their findings. It had already been a long, grueling eight hours of waiting. “I really think I should stick around until my father comes back. His 73

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secretary has promised to call me. Or maybe, I should just head over to his office now.” Sidney looked down on her. “Why? What’s brewing?” “I can’t discuss it, Sid—you know that. It’s confidential.” He eyed her for a bit longer, then finally said, “Well, we’ll call for carry in. Brewers’ delivers. How about I order us a couple of hamburgers, loaded?” Shar had had Brewers’ sandwiches before—and loaded meant exactly that. So full they oozed and dripped with each bite. “I’ll tell you what, order mine with just lettuce and pickle and you have a deal.” Not hesitating, Sidney grasped the phone on her desk, punched the numbers from memory, and had their dinner ordered in no time. He helped himself to a cup of coffee from her pot and took a seat across from her, loosening his tie. “You don’t have a case you need to be working on?” Shar asked. He winked. “You’re the only one needing my attention at the moment, doll. I’m all yours.” And how long had she waited to hear those exact words from KC? Shar sighed. “Well, then, I guess I am one lucky girl.” Sidney patted his lap. “Come here—let me hold you.” After the day she had spent, Shar didn’t have the will to fight the need for affection. If it wasn’t going to come from KC Tanner, then she would settle for Sidney Kurtz. After all, he was a close second to KC. Shar walked around the desk, sat on Sidney’s lap and allowed him to enfold her within his embrace. She tucked her head beneath his chin, and wrapped her arms around him. “Bad day, huh, kid?” “Real bad.” Shar snuggled further into his warmth. “I have a feeling it isn’t about to get much better either.” He kissed the top of her head, then using the pad of his thumb, tipped up her chin. He stared into her eyes, then down at her lips. Shar knew he wanted to kiss her, and in fact, she wanted it as well. 74

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Closing her eyes, she felt the light caress of his lips as they briefly touched hers. Where was the heat? The sizzle? She waited patiently for him to deepen the kiss, to make her feel as KC had. She wanted her pulse to race, her heart to pound, her stomach to flip. But instead, he backed off, and her eyelids fluttered open. He must have sensed her disappointment, because he asked, “What’s the matter, doll?” Shar ran her finger over his soft lower lip, then down his chin. Smooth, not even the slightest amount of razor stubble. Somehow she missed that, the abrasion when KC had kissed her so thoroughly. She lied, “I was just thinking about my dad and, had he picked that moment to walk in the door, he’d have your hide.” “I’m not scared of your father.” But his actions spoke otherwise as he quickly set her on her feet. “I think I better go check on that food.” She knew Mac wouldn’t come here first. He would head for the sheriff’s office with KC in tow. And no matter how much Shar wanted to deny the fact, besides wanting to be there when they returned with their findings, she had wanted to see KC as well. Reasons that had to do with quickening pulses, and racing heartbeats. She had tried desperately to forget KC. But the truth of the matter was she would probably go to her grave pining away for the one thing she could never have. Sidney came back into the room, carrying two grease-stained bags. “One loaded, and one with lettuce and pickle.” He handed her the latter. Shar retook her seat behind the desk and pulled out her sandwich. Somehow, even having not eaten all day, the burger seemed unappealing. But obviously Sidney hadn’t thought so; he took a whopping fourth of the sandwich in one bite, a large glob mixed of mayonnaise, ketchup, and mustard narrowly missing his perfectly pleated pants and landing on the napkin he had placed there. Sidney chuckled, using another napkin to wipe the sides of his mouth, then adjusted his glasses. “I can see why you don’t prefer them 75

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this way.” Shar returned his humor. “They are a bit too messy for me.” The phone rang. Shar picked up the receiver before it ever got to the second ring. “Hello.” “You asked me to notify you when your father returned,” Mac’s secretary spoke on the other end of the line. “Well, the cat drug them both in looking beaten and worn. You want to see them before they head home—I’d suggest you hightail it on over here, sweetie.” “Thanks, Fran.” “You’re welcome, hon! You just get on over here. I’ll only be able to hold that ornery KC here for so long.” Fran knew how Shar felt about KC, and had always let it be known that that was one union she would like to see. Fran had told Shar, “That man needs tamin’, honey. He needs a good strong woman like yourself. One day he’ll wake up and see what he’s missin’. Now don’t you go givin’ up on him.” Shar did not have the heart to tell the poor woman she already had. “I’ll be right over, Fran. Thanks.” “Something come up?” Sidney asked around a mouthful. Shar re-sacked her sandwich. “Sorry, Sid, but I need to get over to my father’s office. Please don’t question me about it.” Sidney laid his sandwich atop the wrapper, wiped his mouth and walked around the desk, pulling her into his arms. “All that matters is I have you.” “You have me, Sid. Now I really need to get going.” He bent down and placed a lingering kiss on her lips. She swore her heart skipped a half a beat that time. Certainly it did. Maybe there was hope for them yet. “Can I come by later and pick you up? Maybe we can rent a movie or two and go back to my place.” “It’s Monday. I really should get to bed early tonight.” He kissed her again, then set her away. “You’re right as always. I’ll just have to wait until Friday to get you alone.” 76

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Her stomach clenched like a tight fist molding around it. Sex with Sidney Kurtz? Dear God, she hadn’t even thought of the possibility. “I thought maybe we could go out somewhere, dinner—to the movies.” Sidney slapped her soundly on the derrière, his hand lingering a bit too long. “If it’s dinner you want, then that’s fine with me. But the movie we can watch from my place”—he winked—“alone.” She bussed his cheek. “I’m sure I will see you before Friday. We’ll make plans then. For now, I have to get to Mac’s office.”

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CHAPTER 8

KC sat across from Mac feeling tired and beaten. Surely, he looked as bad as he felt. It had been a long day of collecting evidence—a day he’d never dare to repeat. No one could attend the likes of a crime scene as he just had and walk away unaffected. KC marveled at the idea that one human could do what the killer had to another. For the first time since becoming a cop, KC understood the insanity plea, for surely someone would have to be insane to mutilate another in such a fashion. He just hoped Reese had been dead before the murderer started—but by the looks of the blood at the scene, he doubted the probability of it. After finishing up, Mac having gone his own way, KC followed up on some hunches, talking to a few of Reese’s colleagues. He wanted Mac nowhere in the vicinity when questioning these people, just in case the sheriff’s name happened to come up. KC couldn’t help but wonder how Mac was tied up in all of this. From his questioning, KC found out that after Reese left the 78

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sheriff’s office on Friday, he had gone to General Lee’s, where he probably had been seen by several of the patrons. But KC could not dismiss the fact one of the last to see Reese Walker alive was Mike MacArthur. KC meant to find out if it was mere coincidence. Another startling truth that came to light was there again had been a connection to Alison MacArthur. One of Reese’s long-standing friends had enlightened KC that Mac had hated Councilman Reese Walker for years—threatened his life, in fact, when he heard that Reese had been spreading vicious rumors about his wife being the “town’s property.” Most speculated that Reese had been turned down by Alison, which spurred his gossiping. Like two bulldogs, neither backed down for what seemed an eternity. But eventually, the nastiness put behind them, they became friends, just prior to Alison’s death. KC’s intuition began at a slow crawl, nagging at him really, until it shifted into overdrive, and KC wasn’t sure he liked the winding path it seemed to take. Neither of the two recent cases appeared connected, yet Alison’s name had entered into both and Mac had had a heated conversation with Reese prior to Reese’s death. What in God’s name was going on in McCreary County and what did Mac and Alison MacArthur have to do with it? “You find out anything while you were questioning some of the townfolk?” Mac asked. KC shifted in his chair. “I only spoke to a few of Reese’s friends. I didn’t tell them why I was asking—just that Reese was missing since we haven’t talked to his wife yet.” “Betty even call in and report Reese missing?” “Nope. Kind of strange, don’t you think? Doc Johnson says the time of death was Friday evening sometime. Betty Walker hasn’t seen her husband since Friday—at least three days—and she doesn’t call him in as missing?” Mac shrugged. “Reese played cards a lot. Maybe she thought—” “For three days?” KC furrowed his brow. “Come on, Mac—there 79

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has to be another reason. Even as ornery as you are, if you didn’t come home for three days Shar would be beside herself sick with worry.” “That’s because I don’t stay out all night. I go home.” “That may be so, but I still say something is awfully fishy.” “Well, you’ll just have to ask her when you head on over there.” “Speaking of which—I guess I better inform the widow before word gets out.” “Not without Shar.” “For crying out loud, Mac. I did this before she became the victim’s advocate for the county—I can certainly handle it now.” Being in Shar’s company wasn’t on the top of KC’s wish list at the moment. The image of seeing her hand rubbing Sidney’s thigh still crawled beneath his skin. Although he had no right, he wanted to slug the little prick. Mac chuckled. “Your way with compassion is notorious, KC. Sorry, buddy, but you’re the sole reason we needed a victim’s advocate. Let’s face it, you just don’t have a way with words.” KC nodded, having to agree with Mac on this one. Hell, he had nearly gave Jean Stanton a heart attack with the way he had described George’s death. How the hell was he supposed to describe Reese’s? Someone cut him up with a chain saw and tossed his limbs about the pole barn? No, Mac was right. Although he didn’t want to admit as much, he knew he had better take Shar along for this one. “Where is she?” he grumbled. “Fran already called her—she’s on her way.” Shar stepped into the office as if on cue, still wearing suits deemed too proper for her normal attire. KC rolled his eyes. He hated this new look on her. Truth be told, he had always liked the race of his pulse, the pounding of his heart, and the sweat of his palms when she had walked into the room affording him a view of way too much of her breasts. Just the thought of tasting one of those… What the hell was he thinking? He rubbed his perspiring palms 80

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along the sides of his jeans. Shit—she’d have to wear armor two inches thick not to affect him. She crossed her arms beneath the objects of his desire and seemed to add two inches as her jacket stretched tight across them. His mouth went dry. Without acknowledging him, she asked Mac, “Well…what did you find?” Mac’s face sobered. “Exactly what Gracie said, Shar. We found a body sliced and diced.” Shar slowly shook her head as the blood drained from her face, paling her flesh. She spoke so lightly that had her lips not moved, KC might not have caught the word at all. “Who?” “Reese Walker.” “Councilman Walker?” “Yep,” Mac said leaning back in his chair and rubbing the stubble on his chin, “that’s the one.” Her tiny body shivered; KC detected it by the slight tremor that seemed to snake up her spine and shake her shoulders. “Does his wife know?” “Nope—we just got back from the scene. I want you and KC to head over there. Break it to her real easy like.” Shar glanced at KC for the first time since entering the office. The icy gaze was cold enough to frostbite his toes. “Well then, I would assume you want me to give her the news instead of KC.” She smiled, punctuating her statement. Mac tilted back his head and laughed aloud. It seemed more out of the release of tension than from humor. “We don’t need KC going over there and describing what we saw today, that’s for sure! I can just imagine what would happen to poor Betty. We would probably have two dead bodies on our hands.” KC grumbled beneath his breath, and shook his head. He grasped Shar by the upper arm and began hauling her toward the door. “Let’s 81

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go, lips.” Shar dug in her heals. “Excuse me?” “You seem to be full of…words this evening. Save them for Betty.” “Lips?” She quirked her brow. “You seem to know how to use them.” The memory of her kiss flooded back, nearly sweeping him off his feet. “You would know.” The tone of her sarcasm-laced voice told KC her thoughts centered on that kiss as well. He looked at Mac, who appeared humored by their banter. “Go on, get out of here, the both of you. Let’s get this wrapped up.” Without another word, KC dropped Shar’s arm and headed out the door, confident she would follow. * * * Shar damn near stomped her heel. How dare he think she would follow him like some obedient puppy, for crying out loud? Her name wasn’t Zappa, and she would be damned if she would let him treat her as such. Come to think about it, he probably treated that old dog better than he treated her. She waited until he had managed to walk to the end of the corridor and through the revolving door to see if he would glance back. He did not. “Well, what the hell you waiting on, Shar…Christmas?” Mac asked. “Men,” she grumbled, then stomped after KC, who no doubt already sat in his SUV awaiting her arrival. God certainly played a trick on women, making one man so appealing, yet so insufferable. Reaching the vehicle, Shar climbed into the cab as KC turned the key and the engine roared to life. “Put on your seat belt,” he grumbled. “We got some rough terrain ahead of us.” The vehicle ambled through some of the winding back roads to the Walker homestead. Shar’s rump would likely be sore before they ever got there. They rode in silence, neither one breaking the charged 82

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atmosphere between them. Shar chewed a hangnail from her finger, nervous at being in such close proximity to KC. She should have offered to follow him in her own car. KC obviously didn’t want to be in her company any more than she wanted to be in his. Shar glanced out the Blazer’s windows. Trees, shrubbery, weeds, and wild flowers blurred by, causing her to shiver. Although Kentucky sported some of the most beautiful wildlife one could see, now she could only imagine how easily someone could hide within its density. And even though Shar had lived in this area all of her life, she had never thought about the dark side of the forests…the nightmares hidden within. Even as a child, she used to play hide and seek deep in the woods, never once thinking about how easily a madman could be lurking or hiding behind a tree. Now danger seemed to become a part of the aura. Even her home she could no longer think of as a haven of security. Someone had invaded their community. And not only was there a possibility of one killer in their midst, now there were two. Shar broke the silence that lingered between them like a bad odor. “You think the same person who killed George did this to Reese?” KC looked at her for the first time since she had gotten in the Blazer. Even when he had told her to buckle up, his eyes had remained on the road. Dashboard lights highlighted parts of his features and shadowed others. But his handsomeness stuck out in stark reality, clenching her stomach. Now that she knew what it was like to kiss those full lips, she wanted more. Sidney couldn’t even begin to bank the fire that KC’s kiss had started. “It’s possible,” he told her, “but not likely. I think these two cases are totally unrelated.” “Why? We haven’t had a murder in this area in some time—and never one like we are dealing with here. You actually think we have two demented people running around McCreary County?” 83

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KC looked at her again, and even in the darkness of the cab in the early twilight hours, she detected sadness in his eyes. Surely it was no more than her imagination. KC Tanner had no feelings. He was as cold as the residents of Pine Knot had pegged him. But just for the briefest of seconds when she had kissed him on her father’s porch, she thought she could feel his veneer cracking. Her hand itched to touch the razor stubble line of his jaw, but she knew it would only serve to push him farther away. Instead she tucked her hand beneath her skirt-covered thigh. * * * KC turned from her gaze. Even in the darkness of the cab, he could see the desire in her deep eyes. She may be dating Sidney Kurtz, but Shar MacArthur still wanted KC. He didn’t know whether to be happy about it or cry. His groin tightened. Well, there was certainly one part of his anatomy ready to stand up and be ecstatic about the hunger he saw reflected in her gaze. The rest of him groaned. Best to keep his mind on the job at hand. “Examine the differences, Shar: George was crucified, stuck up there on a big ol’ cross, Reese was cut up. The MO’s are completely different. I really don’t see a connecting factor. If it was the same person, then I would think there would be a similarity somewhere. Fact is, we don’t have one.” Of course, KC was not about to enlighten her that he had indeed found one—her mother. For the time being, that was one piece of evidence he intended to keep to himself. He pulled the SUV up the steep incline of Reese’s driveway. His headlights lit the tops of the trees. After they drove around front, KC jumped from the cab and walked to Shar’s side to help her down. He grasped her by the waist, one so tiny he could almost connect his fingers. As soon as he had set her on her feet, he dropped his hands and shoved them deep in his pockets. The heat he felt from simply touching 84

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her traveled up his arms and straight to his groin. Hell, the last thing he needed was an erection. Even though he had been with Kate a few short days ago, it obviously wasn’t what he needed to satisfy him. He feared Shar being the only one to scratch the itch that had started the day she came home from college all grown up. He was in trouble. Deep shit, was more like it. Shar followed up to the house, fast on his heels. Well, as fast as five-inch pumps on dirt and scattered grass would allow. This deep in the woods, not much green could be found. A lamp glowed, illuminating the one porch window. KC hoped that meant Betty was home. He knocked on the door, as Shar grumbled something about what an insufferable jerk he was, causing KC to grin just as the door opened. Bad timing. He quickly shed the smile and held out his hand. “Mrs. Walker?” Betty stepped back. “Well, if it isn’t KC Tanner. Come on in,” she said as she pinched the fleshy part of his cheek, reminding him of how he had felt when she was a teacher—his teacher—some years back. “To what do I owe the pleasure? And this must be Mac’s daughter all grown up.” Shar stepped around KC, shouldering him out of her way. If KC hadn’t known better, he might think she resented his presence. She held her hand out to Betty. “Mrs. Walker, we need to speak with you.” “What’s that ornery Reese gone and done now?” Betty laughed. KC detected a nervous pitch to it. “Maybe you ought to have a seat,” Shar instructed. Betty sat on the edge of the sofa, tucking her hands beneath her thighs. In the dim lighting Betty’s face looked years older, touched by a hard life. “You know, Reese, he’s not home right now—” “Yes, Ma’am, that’s why we’re here.” KC stepped forward. “We need to talk to you about your husband.” 85

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Betty looked to the floor, her cheeks flamed red. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you then. Reese left Friday—he hasn’t been back since.” “Do you have any idea where he might have gone?” When Betty glanced up, the beginning of tears filled her eyes. “I’m afraid he might have found another woman.” KC drew his brows together. “Has he been seeing someone else that you are aware of?” A tear slipped past its barrier and made a trek down her cheek. “I don’t know. Reese stayed out many a night. He always said he was playing cards. But he never stayed away this long.” “So he’s been doing this for some time?” KC asked as he took out his pad and jotted down some notes. “Quite awhile. Please, KC, what’s Reese done?” KC glanced at Shar. It was her turn. He knew if he tried to answer that question, he’d certainly make a mess of it. Shar knelt on the floor in front of Betty and took her hands within hers. “Mrs. Walker, I’m afraid your husband is dead.” KC saw Shar’s fingers blanch white as Betty grabbed hold of them and took in several gulps of air. Finally, she released Shar’s hands and covered her face, taking to broken sobs. Shar laid her hands on Betty’s knees and allowed her to cry. KC walked to the window that looked out into the blackness. A huge dawning hole, probably what his heart would look like if someone were to try and peer into it. He didn’t want to care, didn’t want to feel, but damned if he didn’t. And he did not like it one bit. What he needed was another trip to Pastor Jackson’s. Maybe confession was good for the soul. Maybe what he needed was to get how he felt about Shar off his chest. After speaking to the Pastor about his parents, he had felt like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. No longer did he feel the sole reason for his parents’ death. With any luck, maybe Pastor Jackson could purge his bleeding soul of Shar as well. 86

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One could only hope. When he shut the curtain and turned back to face Shar and Betty, his eyes caught full-bloomed flowers in a vase on the counter. Roses. Red crimson roses, just like the ones that had graced Jean Stanton’s home the day they had told her about George’s death. KC pulled a flower from the vase. He walked back to Betty and held it out in front of him. “Where’d these come from?” Betty wiped the wetness from her face as she stared blankly at the velvety rose in his hand, then up at KC. “From Reese, of course.” “Did he give these to you personally?” “I received them Friday while he was at work. The florist delivered them.” “Which florist?” Betty looked at him as though he had grown two heads. “There’s only one florist in town, KC. You know that. Pine Knot Florist.” “You think that’s a connection?” Shar asked, obviously remembering the flowers at the Stanton’s. “I can’t be sure, but it’s the first thing I’ll check into tomorrow morning when it reopens.”

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CHAPTER 9

KC dropped Shar off the night before shortly after they had left Betty Walker in the care of her sister. The entire ride home had been a quiet one, like Shar hadn’t known KC sat in the same cab. He tried to start a conversation but only gained a grumble in response. Mac’s truck sat near the home as they pulled up the gravel drive. The porch windows glowed from the lamplight, illuminating the cloudfilled evening. KC had no reason to walk Shar to the door, but damned if he did not want to. Hell, if he were honest, he wanted a repeat of the last time. He wanted to forget dropping her off altogether and take her back to his place. Truth be told, he thought more about Shar now that she treated him with indifference than when she showered him with attention. Why did he always want something more when it seemed unattainable? Instead of following his desire, he watched Shar walk to the house, no “Good nights,” no nothing. Her sexy sway caused him to groan. 88

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Hell, if Williamsburg wouldn’t have been such a haul, he might just have made the trip and paid Kate a visit. As it was, they weren’t supposed to see each other until the weekend. But he doubted his hunger for Shar would be sated, and the thought of using Kate in such a manner was detestable. The inevitable neared—KC had to end his relationship with her, and soon. Kate deserved better; she had invested six years of her life in him. KC drove the windy roads home in silence, his thoughts centering around Shar and the carnal nature, the exact reason he needed to purge her from his mind. He needed his thoughts on the two cases, and not appeasing the discomfort of his groin. Zappa licked his face, jumped around, then went back to ignoring him as he took up his spot on his over-sized pillow and went promptly back to sleep…something KC had done without. Now, hours later, his tired eyes drooped as he pulled his vehicle up to the Pine Knot Florist, situated at the edge of town. The little bell above the door jingled as he walked in, his boots clunking on the old wooden flooring. The aroma of flowers enveloped him, reminding him all too much of a funeral parlor, and the last time he had been in one was his parents’ wake. Sammy Haden walked through the green curtained doorway that separated the back of the shop from the front. Her eyes lit when she spotted KC. “Detective Tanner, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Sammy had dated Bob Miller steadily over the past couple of years. They often hung at General Lee’s as well as attended sheriff office barbecues and socials. Her waist-length brown hair was pulled back in a severe knot at the base of her neck. “I need to ask you a few questions.” “What’s on your mind?” “You deliver flowers to Betty Walker last Friday?” Her look of innocence told KC she still had not heard about Councilman Walker’s demise. Bob Miller must have been too tired 89

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after his day to visit or even call Sammy with the news. “A dozen Black Magic roses. Is there a problem?” “Who ordered them?” “Her husband…Reese.” KC jotted a few notes on his notepad. “Did he place the order personally?” “He called them in. What’s this about, KC?” “Councilman Walker has been found dead, Sammy.” Her gasp echoed about the small room, the gentle sound of Bach being the backdrop. “How? Heart attack? He seemed like he had been under a lot of stress lately.” KC recalled Reese storming out of the sheriff’s office, causing him to agree with Sammy’s statement. The question was why? “You say he phoned the order in?” “Friday afternoon.” “How were they paid for?” “He told me to bill him. He’s ordered flowers through me before. He has an account.” “Did you recognize his voice? Can you say for absolute certainty that Reese Walker was the person to place the order?” “Well…I don’t suppose I could say with absolute certainty. I don’t normally talk to Councilman Walker on the phone.” KC raised a brow. “I thought you said he’s ordered flowers before.” “His secretary always did the ordering for him in the past.” “Would this be the first time he placed an order himself?” “I suppose he’s done it before. I don’t recall for sure. Why? What does this have to do with the flowers?” “I’m sorry, Sammy. It’s part of an investigation. Reese was found murdered.” Sammy’s face drained of color. “Surely you don’t think…” She left the question hang in the air. KC filled in the blanks. “That the murderer might have sent the 90

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flowers? We don’t know anything at this point. Do you keep records of all the flowers that go out?” “I keep the papers the orders are written on. But a lot of what I do is cash and carry.” “A week ago Friday—George Stanton…did he call in flowers for Jean?” Sammy grasped the counter to steady herself, as her face paled even more. “Black Magic roses,” she whispered. “He phoned them in?” “Yes.” “You billed him?” “Yes.” “Again you couldn’t say for certain if it was indeed George Stanton on the phone?” “No.” “Has any other order gone out for these roses?” Sammy stumbled back and had a seat on the chair behind the counter. “Two weeks ago on Friday.” “Who?” “Kip Lawrence.” “I don’t recognize the name.” Sammy shrugged. “Kip used to live in the area years ago. He was a deputy sheriff. They moved away before you started at the sheriff’s office.” “How do you know him?” “My mother ran this shop before she died. She had been friends with Kip’s wife.” “Where did the flowers go to?” “His ex-wife. She still lives here in town.” KC made a note to find out more about Kip Lawrence and his whereabouts. He hoped to hell his intuitions proved wrong and that Kip was sitting at some poolside enjoying the sun. But if the connecting 91

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factor to these cases were the Black Magic roses, then KC would bet he would be three weeks too late and that Alison MacArthur’s name would come up yet again. “I’ll need Mrs. Lawrence’s address.” “Her name isn’t Mrs. Lawrence anymore. It’s Celia Kurtz.” “She’s remarried?” “Was—it’s Sidney Kurtz’s ex-wife. He divorced her three months ago.” KC gnawed on his lower lip. “Any other Black Magic purchases?” “Just one that I know of…I sold three of them to Sidney about an hour ago.” * * * The day had been a long one. Shar had worked several cases, helped out in children’s services, and seen to a possible rape victim. In the end, the girl confessed that she had instead been a willing party. She was pregnant and afraid her parents would throw her out of the house. It was better they think she was raped then to tell them the neighbor boy had been crawling in her bedroom window for some time. She was just lucky she hadn’t gotten pregnant sooner. Shar placed the remaining files on her desk in the cabinet, slammed the drawer and pushed the button to lock it. Turning around, she squealed as she ran into Sidney’s chest. Shar playfully slapped his arm. “You scared me half to death. What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?” Sidney withdrew three long-stemmed dark red roses with baby’s breath from around his back and handed them to her. “They’re beautiful.” She brought them to her nose. Nothing smelled better than the scent of roses. “I thought I’d come by and take you to supper.” She smiled, raised on the tips of her shoes and kissed his cheek. “Now how could I refuse when you bring me presents?” “I have a roast simmering in my crock pot at home.” 92

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“Then you were mighty sure this morning I wouldn’t say no.” Shar laughed. The truth of the matter was, she could use the relaxation. These cases were starting to fray her nerves—not to mention spending too much time in KC’s company. “Either that, or I’ll have a lot of leftovers.” “I’ll take you up on it, but first let me put these flowers in a vase.” A short time later, Shar sat next to Sidney, enjoying the perfect meal. He had gone to a lot of work with the hope that she would consent. Candles softly lit the dining area, white wine chilled in a bucket beside the table, his grandmother’s silver and china decorated the table. The night had been perfect. Well, almost. But Shar was not about to let thoughts of KC ruin it. Sidney reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m so glad you came.” “I am, too. Thanks for not giving up on me.” Sidney had asked her out for months, but Shar had always declined. “Most would have given up.” “You were worth waiting for. I knew you needed time. I had just gotten a divorce, so I could see where you might be apprehensive.” Shar smiled. “You asked me out long before your divorce, Sid.” His cheeks flamed pink in the candlelight. “I know, but the marriage had been over. You knew that, I told you that the day I asked you out.” “Married men often say that.” “They do,” Sidney concurred, “but I followed through with it. I did get the divorce. I was beginning to think you didn’t find me attractive.” Shar smoothed the hair over his ear, her fingers grazing his lobe. She felt his shiver. “You’re a very attractive man. Many women would love to be having dinner with you.” She bussed his cheek. Sidney grasped her chin and placed his lips over hers, kissing her fully. Shar returned the kiss, her hands resting at his collar. A small flutter 93

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began in her stomach, but nothing compared to the fire KC had started, or the way her blood turned to molten lava and rushed through her veins from his simple touch. Disappointed that she couldn’t purge her thoughts of the one person she had no business thinking of, she broke the kiss. “Maybe I should be going.” Sidney’s eyes narrowed, displeasure evident. He didn’t want her to go. He had probably planned the entire night, right down to the turned bedcovers she spotted earlier on the way to the bathroom. But sleeping with Sidney would not be fair, not while she still thought of KC. Shar rose from the table and backed toward her purse by the door. “I really should be going. Tomorrow’s a workday.” Sidney followed, step for step, until they stopped in front of the picture window. He pulled Shar into his arms and kissed her, one hand anchoring her head, the other sliding up her side, only to land on her breast as he softly caressed one nipple. * * * The ringing started in his ears the minute he excited the cab of his vehicle and glanced at the silhouette in the large picture window. Blood roared through his veins. Homicidal is the only way he could describe the extreme hatred he felt rushing through his body. He wanted to kill the little prick. He crushed the single rose in his hand, the thorn piercing his flesh, feeling the warm trickle of blood as it slid down one finger. The wind kicked up, mussing his hair about his head. His outward appearance surely mirrored the wild emotions flowing throughout his body. And yet he had no right. No right at all. KC stood in the dusk, shadowed by the house, watching Sidney Kurtz kiss Shar the way KC had a few nights ago. The difference? KC had not fondled her breast or taken liberties with her. And he did not like it one bit that Sidney was now. 94

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He cleared his throat and swallowed the rage as he walked up the path to the front door and rapped the brass knocker twice against the plate. Shuffling of feet could be heard before he was momentarily blinded by the porch light. Sidney opened the door and glared at KC. “What the hell do you want, Detective?” KC stayed the urge to smile. “I have a few questions for you.” “This couldn’t wait until morning?” he growled. “I’m sort of busy at the moment.” “I could see that.” Sidney’s thin brows knit together. “Excuse me?” “You were on display, Counselor. Next time you might want to close the drapes.” A feminine voice cleared. “I think I better go,” Shar apologized. Sidney placed his hands on his hips and looked back at Shar. “What if I say I don’t want you to?” “Not now, Sid,” she whispered. KC could tell by the tone of her voice she was embarrassed at being caught. Her face was probably as red as the brick on Sidney’s house. Serves her right, he thought, allowing a slimeball like Sidney to fondle her. The lines of Sidney’s face softened. “Just give me a minute, doll, and I’ll get rid of him. Please…you owe me that.” Not once did Shar dare to peak out at KC. She would no doubt jump behind the first available curtain should KC decide to waltz in the house. Instead, not wanting to embarrass her further, KC grumbled, “Come by my office, Kurtz—first thing in the morning,” then threw the bruised rose into the bush and walked back to his Blazer. Damn it to hell, he’s the one who had pushed Shar away. He’s the one who had decided she was way too young for him. He’s the one who had decided a relationship between the two of them was not going to happen. So why the hell did it bother him that she was now in the arms of 95

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another? * * * Her back slammed against the wall in his effort to rid her of her clothes and fast. The last thing he needed was for her to change her mind. Damn, but he was rock hard, one touch might send him exploding into tiny pebbles. He had wanted Shar for so long that he couldn’t possibly walk away without this tonight. Not with having kissed her, not with having caressed her pert breast. He could still feel the sensation of her nipple as it hardened beneath his palm. Damn he wanted her with the driving force of a hurricane. Her sweet body, he thought, as he grasped her shirt and roughly shoved it upward, exposing large breasts. Who said more than a mouthful was a waste? With a growl, he drew one nipple into his mouth and suckled the tip through the silky fabric of the bra. He heard the answering moan, knew without a doubt if he touched the v of her thighs she’d be wet, wanting him as much as he needed her. Releasing her breast, he pushed her top over her head, tossing it to the side. His fingers fumbled at the front clasp of her bra until her breasts spilled free, filling both of his hands. “My God,” he whispered. She giggled as she unfastened the front of his pleated pants, reached in, and grabbed his erection, stroking him with the mastery of a whore. His knees weakened. He would surely die before he ever sank his erection into her. His desire had never quite hit this level before, and he had Shar to thank for it. He pulled her hand from his trousers, picked her up, wrapping her legs around him, and carried her to his waiting bed. Never had he thought she would have agreed to this. But to his luck, she had, and seemed to be enjoying it as much as he, if not more. She laughed as he fell back on the bed, taking her with him. Her thighs straddled his waist. 96

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“Give it to me,” she said. And who was he to deny? He pushed his pants past his thighs until they hung about his ankles. Picking her up by the trim waist, he set her atop his erection and let her slide slowly down him, consuming him, setting him on fire. He tilted his head toward the ceiling, and grit his teeth, trying damn hard not to let go. Shar’s face, her eyes, her hair, her scent floated around him like a cocoon as his world detonated, bright lights and tiny explosions nearly carrying him away as he climaxed. “Was it good for you?” Celia panted, killing the magic of the moment. Sidney opened his eyes and looked into the face of his ex-wife. Disgusted, he rolled her off of him. “It sure in the hell was, Celia. Now get dressed and get the hell out of here before someone sees you.”

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CHAPTER 10

“The truth of the matter is, I can’t get her out of my mind, no matter how hard I try. I close my eyes and she’s there—I can almost smell the soft scent of her as though she lay beside me on the bed. I don’t know what to do,” KC said, leaning back in the pillow-stuffed chair. “I have so much more I should be thinking about, these murder cases, my work, but I can’t. It’s like I’m possessed.” “In a way you are,” Pastor Jackson said. “You’ve allowed the sins of the flesh to control you.” KC laughed. “I haven’t slept with her, Pastor.” Earlier, KC could think of only one place to go after he left Sidney Kurtz’s house when his anger had hit the roof…Pastor Jackson’s. After all, the pastor had told KC his door was always open. And if KC had ever needed to talk with someone, it was now. “No one is saying you did, Kevin. But thoughts are as bad as deeds. A sin is a sin and you need to atone for that.” Pastor Jackson steepled his fingers and looked at KC over the top of 98

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them. Their eyes locked until, out of guilt, KC was forced to look to his lap. He had definitely thought about having sex with Shar—in every imaginable position. “Do you love her, Kevin?” His gaze snapped back up. “No!” “The line between lust and love is often obscured. Sometimes we can’t even see what is right in front of us.” “This is silly.” KC jumped from his chair. “I came here in hopes that talking to you might help me figure out why I obsess over her. I thought you could help.” “Sit…please.” The pastor’s hand indicated the chair. KC complied. “You first need to identify the sin. Once you do that, then you can begin to repent and get back on the road to salvation.” “I’m guilty of thinking about her, Pastor…if you’re saying that’s a sin.” “It’s the lustful thoughts that are the sin. Tell me about it.” KC grinned; he quirked one brow. “You want me to talk about my sexual fantasies?” It was the Pastor’s turn to chuckle. “Not the fantasies, but the kind of thoughts you’ve been having.” He leaned back in his chair, running a finger beneath his slightly crooked nose, then resting his bearded chin on his fist. “Talking about your parents helped, am I right?” “I don’t feel as guilty about their deaths as I did. So I guess talking about it lifted some of the weight from my shoulders.” “Well, let me do that for you with this. Believe me, Kevin Charles, I’ve consoled all kinds; you won’t be filling me with surprises or putting starch into my collar. Who is this woman that has you so captivated? Maybe we can help you sort this out.” “Sharalee MacArthur.” Pastor Jackson shifted. “The sheriff’s daughter?” “I know—she’s too young for me. Why do you think I’ve been filled with such guilt?” 99

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“She’s an adult, but then again a very young adult. How many years are there between you?” “Fourteen.” “And this is the only thing that is bothering you—her age?” Heat rose in KC’s cheeks. “No—her father’s my best friend. I’ve known her since she was nine, for Christ’s…” KC cleared his throat. “… for crying out loud.” “We don’t always get to choose who we become attracted to, Kevin. I, too, in my past, became enamored with a young lady of infinite beauty.” “Were you married at the time?” The pastor ran a hand down his beard, smoothing the whiskers. “No, but she was. I held my distance. The Lord gave me strength.” “What happened to her?” “She’s passed on now. But my point is, if I were to choose someone to fall for, it would have been someone available. This woman was not.” “Did she ever know?” “No, I would not have done that to her.” The Pastor leaned forward, folding his hands on the desktop. “You need to decide what is right. These lustful thoughts will only add to your damnation. If you cannot purge your thoughts of her, then maybe you should marry her.” KC furrowed his brow. “You’re kidding, right?” “God states in First Corinthians Seven, Verse Nine: But if they cannot control themselves, they should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with passion.” KC laughed. “I should marry her because I want to sleep with her? Now that’s a joke.” “There is nothing funny about the Lord’s wrath. And until you repent, you will continue to carry this with you.” “But I told you, I don’t love her.” “Then if you have no desire to marry her, you need to purge your 100

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thoughts. Now is the time to open your heart and accept Jesus into it. He will be your strength, your rock.” KC was beginning to wonder why he had come here in the first place. But what had he expected Pastor Jackson to say? It’s all right, go sleep with her? KC rolled his eyes at the irony. “Next you will be telling me, had I been attending church regularly, this wouldn’t have happened.” Pastor Jackson’s lips turned down. “If you were going to make fun of the way I counsel, then why did you come here? You obviously thought I could help.” “I’m sorry.” The tips of KC’s ears heated at the reprimand. “That was uncalled for.” “I don’t pretend to have all the answers, Kevin. Only God does. I am only suggesting that you begin to look to him for those answers. And, yes, that does mean attending church regularly.” * * * Jackie placed a draft on the bar, waving off the offered bill. “It’s on the house, KC—you look like you could use it!” KC grinned. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.” The woman, having seen better days herself, patted his hand. “Honey, you’ve looked better.” Then she pinched his cheek. “Maybe you just need to get laid. There are plenty of women out there who would oblige a good-looking man like yourself. Hell, if it wasn’t for my ol’ man, I’d take you out back myself.” “Your husband would have my hide.” “Ol’ Fred wouldn’t hurt a soul.” “You say that now…but take me out back—” “Quit tempting me ’fore I take you up on it. I’m sure you’d give me the ride of my life,” she said, then walked off laughing, the pitch high and grating. Mac sat on the stool next to KC, setting his longneck on the bar. “Where you been?” 101

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KC took a big swig from his mug, then wiped the foam from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “I’ve been out investigating.” “This late?” Mac tucked a wad of chew into his mouth. “I stopped by to see Pastor Jackson.” “You?” Mac chuckled. “Again? What in tarnation for? You think you suddenly need saving? These cases have you spooked.” “Christ, Mac—what happened to Councilman Walker would have anyone spooked. Can you imagine what that man went through?” Mac took a long pull from his bottle. “Don’t let this case get to you, KC. We need your head in this thing.” “It is.” One eye narrowed. “Is it? You seemed to be awful distracted lately. Like something else is preoccupying your thoughts. You and Kate fighting?” KC swiveled his chair in Mac’s direction. “Kate and I are just fine.” Mac guffawed. “Just what I thought. There’s trouble in paradise. I can see it written all over that face of yours. She quit giving it to you?” “That’s twice I’ve been told I need to get laid tonight.” “Hell, I ain’t offering. You can go use ol’ Rosy Palm for all I care.” “You have such a way with words, Mac,” KC said, then took another swig from his frosty mug. Hell, if getting laid would have solved his problems, he could have done that long ago. Shar being willing was never the problem. “So what’s up with you and Kate?” “I told you, we’re fine,” KC grumbled. “And the Pope shits in the woods. If you haven’t got any plans to marry that girl, then maybe you ought to let someone else. Kate’s too good of a girl to be put on a shelf.” “Can’t say I can argue with you. Truth be told, I was thinking myself that maybe I should break things off. It’s not fair to her that I’m not the marrying kind.” “No woman will ever take the bachelor out of you. If Kate Kershaw 102

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can’t do it, I doubt any woman can.” “Care to dance,” a tiny voice came from behind, interrupting them, as “One Ride in Vegas” by Deryl Dodd played on the jukebox. KC turned to find a small petite blonde, nervously tucking her straight hair behind one ear. KC had never seen her before. And in a small county like McCreary, that was a rarity. With an ornery grin, Mac nodded in the girl’s direction as though KC should oblige. Hell, she couldn’t be more than twenty-five. “I’m sorry, honey,” KC said, not wanting to offend her. “But I’m not sure it’s a wise idea.” She grinned. “You scared of me, Detective?” He raised a brow. “You know me? How come I haven’t seen you around before?” “I’m Jackie’s niece.” “Well that explains it.” KC laughed. “Honey, I’m not a charity case.” She tilted her head to the side in misunderstanding. “You tell Jackie this ol’ guy will be fine.” “Jackie didn’t send me over here. I came on my own. Now how about that dance? I promise I won’t bite.” She punctuated her statement with a smile as awe inspiring as the Grand Teton. Offering him her hand, KC finally took it and followed her to the dance floor. He loosely wrapped his arms around the blonde and began to sway slowly to the rhythm of the song. “So what’s your name, honey?” “Tina Sue Carter. Jackie’s husband and my daddy are brothers.” “You from around here?” “Ohio. I come down for the summers and spend time with my aunt. She never could have kids, always treated me like her own. I like it down here.” “I guess that would explain why I didn’t recognize you. You here for long?” 103

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“I go home next week. I’ve been working up the nerve to ask you out for some time.” KC chuckled. “Then how come I never noticed you before?” “Aunt Jackie doesn’t like me to be in the bar. I usually work in the back.” She paused, then forged forward. “How about dinner?” “You managed to talk me into a dance.” “Does that mean I can talk you into dinner sometime?” “Look, honey—I’m flattered and all, but I already have a girlfriend.” “I just overheard you tell the sheriff that you thought you should break it off.” She hadn’t missed a beat in the conversation or keeping him on the dance floor as one song drifted into another. “Well, if you heard that, Tina, then you also heard I’m a sworn bachelor. Ain’t a woman alive whose going to be able to change that.” Sharalee’s image came to mind as if taunting him. No, he assured himself, not even Shar. “Are you sure I couldn’t try?” “You’re very pretty, Tina Sue—a knockout, in fact—but no, I think I like my life just the way it is.” She giggled. “It was worth a try. I start school in a few weeks. I thought maybe I could go off to college—” KC stiffened. “Did I say something wrong?” “Just how old are you?” “Eighteen.” “Shit.” KC dropped his hold on her. Her eyes widened. “What?” “I’m almost thirty-eight years old, honey. Dancing with you is like dancing with my daughter.” “You have kids?” “No, but I could have. Now you return to that back room before I 104

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have you arrested.” Her lips turned down. “For what? I wasn’t drinking.” “For hitting on a man way too old for you. Now go on before some of these drunks out here get a look at you.” Tina Sue stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and placed a lingering kiss on his lips. Mac’s loud guffaw could be heard above the guitar’s twangs on the jukebox, warming KC’s cheeks. Damn, but he hated being the center of attention. He grasped Tina by the waist and set her away from him. She smiled. “It was well worth the try, Detective. If you ever get lonely, you can find me at Bowling Green State University up in northern Ohio.” KC shook his head, a smile turning up his lips. “Tenacity.” She ran a hand down his jaw. “You sure I can’t talk you into that dinner?” “Not a chance.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “But if it makes any difference, if I was about ten years younger, you wouldn’t stand a chance. I’d be all over you, honey.” Tina Sue sighed, and placed her hand over her heart. “You have truly made my day. Maybe next summer I can come back—” “I’ll still be too damn old for you. Now go on—get on out of here before I change my mind.” She turned with a saucy sway and headed for the back of the bar. “Promises, promises.” Mac held his stomach from laughing as KC returned to his stool. KC grumbled, then took a huge gulp of his draft. “Man, I wish I had your problem.” “What problem’s that, Mac?” KC asked without looking in his direction. “You seem to be beating women off with a stick.” “One woman, Mac.” Mac held up his fingers, ticking off each name one by one. “Let’s 105

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see, there’s Jackie’s niece, Kate, and let’s not forget Shar—” KC damn near spit the mouthful of beer he just took. Managing to swallow it, he looked at Mac. “What the hell does your daughter have to do with it?” “Come now, KC, she’s had a crush on you for years. If you haven’t seen it—” “You know damn well I’ve seen it. But she knows I’m too old for her.” Mac grinned a tobacco-stained smile, then spit a wad of goo into the cup he carried. “You and I both know it. Doesn’t look like Shar ever figured it out, though. Look at who she’s dating now?” Mac shook his head in disgust. “Maybe I should have pushed her on you.” KC shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t. It ain’t my problem you can’t control that daughter of yours. This ol’ boy ain’t picking up the slack. She’s your problem.” Mac sighed; his shoulders slumped. “What the hell’s a father to do?” “I don’t know, Mac,” KC said, and they both sat in silence, staring into their beer. Finally, Mac perked up. “You said you went investigating. What’d you find?” Glad to have the topic changed, KC began telling Mac about the link they had connecting the cases: someone was sending out Black Magic roses as a calling card of sorts. “I’m going to head over to Celia Kurtz’s come morning. Sammy Haden said she delivered some roses to her about three Fridays ago.” “Well we know Sidney’s still alive. You think he’s the next target?” “Nope—those flowers came from her first ex.” “Kip Lawrence.” “You know him?” Mac nodded, took a pull from the last of his longneck, then slammed the empty on the bar. As Jackie neared, he waved her off. 106

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Sweat beaded Mac’s brow. “I worked with him. He’s an exdeputy.” “You feeling ill? You don’t look so well.” “Ah, hell—I’m fine.” Mac wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “One too many beers.” “You going to need a ride home?” “Jackie said Fred will take me home.” “So, Kip used to be a deputy. Why’d he leave?” “I don’t know—maybe that’s something you should ask him.” Mac took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his upper lip. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should head home. I’m suddenly not feeling so well. You’d think I’d learn to stop after a couple of beers. That damn ulcer’s gonna kill me one of these days.” “I can give you a ride.” “Nonsense. Fred goes right by my house anyway. It’s out of your way.” “Will you be in the office in the morning?” “I should be. Why?” KC finished the remainder of his own drink, then stood to leave. “I thought maybe we ought to find out where Kip went off to and pay him a visit…together.”

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CHAPTER 11

KC and Mac traveled up State Route 25, heading for London, Kentucky, the last known residence of Kip Lawrence. According to Mac, he quit the sheriff’s office about twenty years ago and moved out of town shortly after divorcing Celia. “How long were they married?” KC asked. Mac spit into his cup. “Three years. I guess that’s why it makes it so damn strange he would send her flowers after all this time.” “He ever keep in contact with her…call her?” “It wasn’t my job to keep track of what the hell was going on.” “You were friends with Kip.” “Worked with him. Big difference.” “So you’re saying you never hung with him off duty? Yours was strictly a business relationship?” Mac shifted, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “What the hell you interrogating me for? Sure, we hung a bit off hours. I’m just saying we weren’t friends.” 108

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“What do you mean?” “Well, like you and I.” Mac used his hand to indicate him and KC. “We’re good friends. We tell each other everything.” KC thought about the missing St. Christopher medal and the way Alison’s name continued to pop up into the investigation. Too many secrets. KC wondered what else Mac hadn’t told him. And then there was KC’s own hidden truths, things he kept to himself, never told anyone. Some things were just meant to be kept secret. “I suppose friends tell each other things they might not trust with others,” KC offered. “Of course they do,” Mac agreed, then changed the subject. “You talk to Celia yet?” “Nope. I called and left a message on her machine. I’ll get back to her when we get home.” “What do you think we’ll find in London?” “I’m not sure. I wished I could say ‘alive and well Kip.’ But if my intuitions prove right, we won’t be finding him among the living.” “You think the roses are the connecting factor?” “Yep. You hear anything from the coroner yet?” “Results are due back today on some of the toxicology reports. We should hear later if there was anything strange about either of the deaths.” KC looked at Mac, raising one brow. “Strange? You don’t find this whole damn thing strange? Crucifixions? Mutilations? There’s nothing normal about any of this.” “I can’t help but wonder how these two men got to be where they were in the first place. Like I said before, if you are acting alone, how do you strap down a grown man all by yourself?” KC shrugged. “He could have held them at gun point.” “And what did he do with the gun when he tied the knots on the rope, or pulled tight the straps of the leather? I still say we may have 109

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more than one person working here. I just can’t picture how it’s being done otherwise.” KC nodded, staring ahead as they both lapsed into silence. Mac was right. How the hell could one person do crimes such as these? His intuitions told him this was the work of one sick individual—one madman. His reasoning spoke otherwise. But then again, maybe he just wanted to believe there could be only one insane person running loose in McCreary County, not two. The last ten minutes passed without a word as though each of them tried to sort out the mess. Finally, KC pulled into a cement driveway. After parking the SUV, they exited and headed for the house. The back of KC’s neck itched, almost like a nag. Newspapers littered the porch, hidden from view by the street. The paperboy probably rode his bicycle down the sidewalk, tossing the paper over the railing hidden by a row of shrubs, never noticing the pile up. “This doesn’t look good, Mac.” Mac nudged aside a few of the rolled papers with the toe of his boot as he used the pad of his thumb to tilt his cowboy hat, emblazoned with a golden star. “Nope. Not at all.” KC rang the bell, easily hearing it from the outside as the front porch windows stood open. He peered through the screen. “Anyone home?” he called. No answer came, though he didn’t really expect one. After ringing the doorbell one more time, KC turned his back on the door, using his thumb to point at the house. “You think we ought to go in?” “We’ll need to contact the Laurel County Sheriff. We can’t just go barging in.” “What they don’t know—” “You boys looking for Mr. Lawrence?” Mac and KC turned to find a neighbor woman standing on her steps, tightly grasping the collar of her pink terry-cloth housecoat at her neck. She looked to be in her mid-sixties. 110

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“Ma’am.” Mac tipped his hat. “You seen Mr. Lawrence lately?” “He’s not one to show his face much. But I do see him coming home from work every day.” She walked down her steps and approached the railing. “I sleep late in the mornings—don’t usually see him leave very often.” KC placed a hand on the rail and leaned forward, looking down on the woman. “You see him come home yesterday?” “No, sir.” She cleared her throat and smoothed back the side of her hair with her free hand, the other still clutching the robe. “I haven’t seen Mr. Lawrence in days. I can’t recall when the last time I saw him was.” “Two weeks ago last Friday?” “Could be. I don’t spy on my neighbors.” KC chuckled. “We’re not saying you do, ma’am. We’re just looking for Mr. Lawrence is all.” “It’s been awhile. I thought maybe he went on vacation.” Mac chimed in. “And left his front windows open?” The lady grinned, sporting a large gap between her top front teeth. “Well, that certainly wouldn’t be very smart now, would it?” “You do us a favor?” KC asked, grasping his badge from his back pocket and flipping open the leather cover, showing it to her. “Can you call the Laurel County Sheriff’s Office? Tell them we’re from McCreary County and Sheriff MacArthur needs to speak to them. We’d like them to come out here, if they would be so kind.” “Mr. Lawrence in some kind of trouble?” “We don’t know yet, ma’am. We hope not.” The woman trotted back to her house to make the call. Mac looked at KC. “Well? What do you think?” “I’m thinking we’re three weeks too late. Kip Lawrence isn’t going to be coming home—not this time.” * * * Several hours later, Mac and KC parted company. Mac headed for 111

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Doc Johnson’s to see what they had come up with in the autopsy from either death and KC headed for Celia Kurtz’s. Inside Kip Lawrence’s home, they found nothing out of place, nothing taken. All of Kip’s valuables and toiletries remained, as did his suitcases. It didn’t appear as though when Kip left the house for the last time he had planned an extended stay anywhere. An APB was put out on Kip and his car. The Laurel County Sheriff’s Office agreed to do what they could and to assist in the search. KC laid his bets on not finding the man alive, but had no idea where to begin looking. Celia Kurtz was a good place to start. KC headed up the walk to her home. The house seemed fairly large for a woman living on her own. White pillars stretched two stories high as a balcony on the second floor ran the length of the home, reminiscent of the old-style plantations. Huge potted ferns sat on either side of the double doors and white wicker chairs and a sofa graced the cemented porch. Two ornate wreaths hung from the red-painted doors. It seemed she had done all right for herself. He used the shiny gold knocker. The dead bolt slid free, and the door opened. KC flipped open his badge. “Detective Tanner with the sheriff’s office.” Her eyes widened. “What can I do for you, Detective?” She wore a low-cut clingy dress that left little to the imagination. There was no second-guessing to what God had blessed this woman with. Any hot-blooded male would have trouble looking this one in the eye with all that spilled above the neckline. When he brought his gaze back to hers, she wore a knowing smile. At least she hadn’t slapped him. KC shook his head and stepped into the house with her direction. “Please, Detective, have a seat. Can I offer you a beer?” KC removed his hat as he took the offered seat, running his fingers through his hair to try and rid it of the hat circle sure to be left behind. 112

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“I’m on duty, ma’am. No thanks.” “How about a nice cold glass of iced tea with a lemon slice? I just made some fresh today.” “That would be nice, ma’am.” Celia smiled warmly, then went through the archway and into the kitchen. KC had a quick glance around. The inside of the home was immaculate, probably not a spec of dust to be found. KC assumed she had a maid, as it didn’t look too likely Celia would get down in the dirt and clean, not with the manicure she had. She walked back in the room and placed his glass on the stand beside him. As she bent over in front of him, KC got an eyeful. Hell, he was afraid they might just fall out. He cleared his throat. Celia stood. “Something wrong, Detective?” “Not at all, ma’am. I’m here because I need to ask you a few questions.” He opened the pad he carried and took a pen from his shirt pocket. “Do you have any objections?” “Do I look like I have anything to hide?” She held out her arms. His gaze went right to where she intended. KC scratched his ear and quickly looked back at his notepad. The woman obviously enjoyed the attention her large breasts brought. “Ms. Kurtz, were you ever married to a Kip Lawrence?” Her lips turned down. “Several years ago…seems more like a lifetime.” “How long were you married?” “What’s this about, Detective? Is Kip in some kind of trouble?” “That’s what we are trying to ascertain, Ms. Kurtz. Kip’s missing and no one can tell us where he’s at. Have you seen or heard from him in the last few weeks?” “I received flowers from Kip a couple of weeks ago.” “Two weeks ago last Friday?” “Yes, from the florist here in town. Sammy Haden brought them.” “Black Magic roses?” 113

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“I wouldn’t know the name of them, but they were dark red roses.” “Was it unexpected?” Celia tittered. “Boy, was it. Kip Lawrence left me twenty years ago and never looked back. Out of the blue he’s sending me flowers?” “Did you thank him?” “I called him, but no one answered.” “You try just once?” “I left him a message on his machine—he never returned that call.” KC had heard Celia’s message, along with about ten others. The light on the machine blinked until the messages were retrieved, so KC knew no one had retrieved them until the sheriff’s office played them a few hours ago. “Look, maybe Kip took a vacation or something. People just don’t disappear, Detective.” “I’m afraid that might be what happened, Ms. Kurtz. We searched his house and it doesn’t appear anything is missing. If he would have gone on a vacation, he would have taken suitcases, toiletries, that kind of thing. No one has seen Kip in the last two weeks.” Celia took a seat, chewing on her long thumbnail. Finally she asked, “You think he’s going to be all right?” “I don’t know. Let’s hope so.” Her face paled as she glanced back at KC. “You don’t think this has anything to do with these murders I’ve been reading about in the newspapers, do you?” “At this time, we don’t have anything that points in that direction.” KC wasn’t about to inform her otherwise. They didn’t have enough evidence yet. More pointedly, they had no body. “Besides, we don’t even know that those two murders are related.” “The newspaper said it was a possibility.” “Don’t believe everything you read, Ms. Kurtz. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who Kip might have been associated with, do you? Any business deals of late?” 114

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“I told you, Detective, until those flowers arrived on my doorstep, I hadn’t talked or heard from Kip in twenty years.” “What about Sidney?” “What about him?” “You have contact with him since your divorce?” KC knew this was a long shot. Other than Sidney buying those Black Magic roses for Shar and also being an ex-husband of Celia’s, KC had no reason to believe Sidney might some way be involved. “Sometimes we see each other.” “He ever buy you roses?” “Sidney bought me flowers all the time, Detective. Maybe that’s why our marriage lasted nearly eighteen years.” “Red roses?” “Why, is it now an oddity? What’s your point, Detective?” “Just answer the question, please, Ms. Kurtz.” “Always red.” “When was the last time you received flowers from him?” “A few months ago.” “And the last time you saw him?” Celia glared at the detective as though she weighed the option of answering him. “Is Sidney in trouble?” “Not that I know of. You know of anything he might have done wrong?” “Besides him divorcing me?” “He wanted the divorce?” “It was his idea.” KC thought of Shar and Sidney’s pursuit of her. He wondered if she might be the reason Sidney would leave a marriage of eighteen years. “And the last time you saw him?” “Last night.” KC’s gaze snapped up from the pad on which he was writing. He quirked a brow. “Last night?” 115

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“Yes, he called me. It was late—he said he needed me. I obliged.” “Needed you?” KC knew he was walking on thin ice. What Sidney Kurtz did last night had no baring on what happened to Kip Lawrence. “In what way? To talk?” Celia giggled. “He needed a bit more than talking last night. I haven’t seen Sidney that worked up in a long time. The way we made love—I think maybe he’s beginning to regret that divorce.” * * * KC fumed; his ire hit the roof. He wanted to punch the SOB in the mouth, not look at him. And at the moment, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to control that urge. For the second time, KC pounded the metal door with his fist. “I’m coming. No need to beat in the damn door.” The porch light flicked on and the door opened as Sidney finished putting on his shirt. He stopped momentarily, surprised by his visitor, before shoving his arms the rest of the way into the sleeves. “What the hell do you want, Tanner? Can’t you see it’s off hours?” KC checked his watch. “Seven-thirty, imagine that. I haven’t even had time for dinner yet.” “Well, don’t look at me,” he grumbled. “I ain’t offering.” “I need to ask you some questions. You have time for that, Sidney?” KC spit his name in disgust. He never had liked the slimeball attorney, and his dating Shar hadn’t helped. But now, sleeping with his ex while dating Shar? Well, hell, that pushed KC right over the edge. Sidney should consider himself lucky that KC didn’t break his nose. Sidney opened the door further for KC to enter. KC stepped over the threshold, looking around. “What the hell you looking for, Tanner? No one’s here, if you’re looking for Shar. I haven’t seen her since last night.” A smile curved up Sidney’s lips. A knowing one like a man gives another man when he wants it to be known he scored. 116

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“You really are a piece of work, Sidney, you know that?” “Look, you’re not here to trade insults, so why not just get to the point. You were here last night—what the hell did you want then?” “The roses you bought from Sammy Haden at the florist yesterday…who’d they go to?” “Is that your business?” KC squared his shoulders. “It may be when it parallels a case I am working on.” “These two murder cases? What the hell does my buying flowers have to do with George Stanton and Reese Walker?” “Black Magic roses…ever hear of them?” “Yes, they are a dark red rose. I buy them all the time. Sammy stocks them.” “Well, it seems these roses were delivered to the victim’s wives before their death.” Sidney shrugged. “Coincidence.” “I don’t think so. Seems Kip Lawrence”—he saw the smug look die from Sidney’s face—“that’s right, your ex-wife’s first husband, sent some to Celia a few weeks back. Now he’s missing as well.” “So what’s that have to do with me?” “You seem to have a penchant for the flowers.” “So I buy them. That proves nothing.” “You buy some recently for Celia?” “A few months back.” “And those you bought for Shar…those are the only flowers you’ve purchased recently?” “That’s it.” “I think that’s all I needed to know for now.” Sidney placed his fists on his hips and straightened his spine. He still stood a good three inches shorter than KC. “If you’re hassling me because of Shar—” KC leaned forward. “I haven’t begun to hassle you, Sidney. You 117

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wouldn’t like it if I did.” “Well, I know you’ve had your eye on her—” “She’s too damn young for me, which makes her way too young for you. Watch your step, Sidney.” “Or what?” He chuckled. “Or maybe I’ll just tell Shar you slept with your ex-wife last night after she left.” KC turned and headed for his Blazer, listening to Sidney sputter behind him, then slam the door closed. Had he not been so damn mad, he might just have chuckled over the calm and cool Sidney Kurtz having his feathers ruffled.

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CHAPTER 12

KC sat in Mac’s office, staring at him over his steepled fingers. “Rohypnol?” Mac shifted the wad of chew in his mouth and grinned, the tobacco making the lines between his teeth more pronounced. “That’s what I’m saying.” “The date-rape drug? Rophies?” “Exactly.” KC rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “Well that would certainly explain it away—how one person could have strapped Reese to a table, or how someone of George’s size could be tied down. They were incapacitated.” “I believe so.” Mac spit into his Styrofoam cup. “Doc Johnson said they did the standard tests on the livers of both victims. George’s had been hanging for some time, but they were still able to identify a trace of it. Reese’s body hadn’t been dead for quite as long, making it easy to detect.” 119

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“Where do you suppose our man came across it?” “From what I could find out about the drug, it can be bought by prescription in Mexico and transported across the border. On a much larger scale, however, it’s being smuggled in from Columbia, primarily through Miami. So it’s hard telling. Taken alone, it acts as an intoxicant. Add that to alcohol and you can include loss of memory, impaired judgment, dizziness, and long periods of blackout.” “And being that it is reportedly odorless, colorless, and tasteless, it’s easily slipped into someone’s drink. Reese was last seen at General Lee’s.” “Bingo. I say we pay a visit to the bartender…find out who else might have been there last Friday night. I think our man was there, slipped it into Reese’s drink, then waited outside for him.” KC stood up. “Well what the hell are we waiting for? I think we need to pay General Lee’s a visit and see what Jackie Carter might have to tell us.” Moments later, they drove up to the old metal building, just situated outside of Pine Knot. Being a Thursday, and not yet supper hour, the gravel parking lot was empty except for a few of the regulars’ cars. KC pulled the SUV to the front door, cut the engine and jumped from the cab. Mac followed him through the old wooden door. Jackie looked up from the scarred bar she was polishing with a ragged cloth as the two approached; a smile warmed her face. “Well, well, well, it ain’t often I see the likes of you two at this time of day. Ain’t you two got a case or something to work on? Or did you just miss me?” KC lifted a leg and straddled the stool, while Mac moved another stool out of the way with the tip of his worn western boot and remained standing. KC grasped his hat by the rim and laid it upon the bar. Mac simply tilted back his hat with the tip of his thumb. Smoke rolled beneath the lights that hung low over the green-felt pool table as Dick Swanson stood to one end chalking his stick, a lit 120

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cigarette bobbing from his lips, and Charlie Pierce racked the balls. Neither of them paid KC or Mac any attention as Alan Jackson crooned from the jukebox. “We need some information, Jackie.” She stopped her polishing, grabbed two clean glasses and filled them with soda. She sat them in front of KC and Mac. Mac grasped his and took a healthy swig. The ride over had been hot and dusty since it hadn’t rained in Pine Knot for days. “What kind of information?” “We need to know who came in here last Friday night. Were you on?” She nodded. “‘Til closing, just like most Friday nights.” “You remember seeing Reese Walker?” “You know I do. Like I told you before, he was here most the night by himself. Never left.” “You see anyone talk to him?” Jackie laughed, loud and raucous. “Darlin’, he had people talking to him all night. As I told you, he sat nursing a drink the entire evening, but that doesn’t mean people didn’t stop by to tell him ‘Hi.’ He was pretty tanked when he left. I thought he was sleeping it off in his car or had gotten a ride home since I noticed his car still parked in the lot when I locked up. Hell, I was just glad he hadn’t tried to drive home himself.” “Jackie—this is important.” KC leaned in. “Can you remember who was here on Friday, sweetheart? Specifically someone who spoke to Reese.” She tapped a red, paint-chipped nail on the surface. “We didn’t have anyone unusual here. Hell, even Mac had stopped in for a bit.” Heat traveled up KC’s spine as he turned to look at the sheriff. “You didn’t tell me you were here,” KC nearly bellowed. Mac shrugged, then spit a stream of brown goo at his feet. Jackie glared at the sheriff. “Hey, hey—have some respect, Mac. I 121

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don’t want to have to scrub these damn floors again today.” “So what about it, Mac?” KC asked, ignoring the interruption. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Mac rolled his eyes. “So what, KC? Now I’m a suspect?” “Jesus, Mac, this is part of an investigation. If you have information that might help solve the crime, I’d certainly appreciate it. Why the hell didn’t you say something?” “If I had any knowledge that I thought might help—” “Like who the hell was in the bar that night?” “Come on, KC. I wasn’t even here that late. I came, talked to Reese and left. I needed to apologize; I felt I owed him that much after he stormed out of my office. But while I was here, I was the only one who talked to him.” He turned toward Jackie. “You see anyone talk to him after I left?” “Sure did. Like I said, lots of people. Although he didn’t appear too much in the mood for conversation. After Mac left, he spent a lot of time looking into the bottom of that glass, as if it held some sort of answers.” “What was his temperament like after Mac left?” KC asked, not being able to help himself. Hell, at this point he didn’t care that the sheriff stood only a few feet to his right. Mac slammed down his glass. Carmel-colored soda spilled over the sides and onto his hand. Mac shook off the sticky liquid, then wiped his hand on his trousers. “You wanting to accuse me of something, KC? I’m getting a real funny feeling over here that you might be wondering how I’m involved in all of this.” “Not now, Mac,” he warned, sorry he brought it up. He certainly didn’t want the dirt spilled in front of Jackie and the boys playing pool. No, this was better off left for behind the sheriff’s closed door. But damned if there weren’t a lot of coincidences in this case. “You think back at the office might be a better time?” Mac growled, 122

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nearly foaming at the mouth. “You got something to say, boy, say it. We’re among friends.” KC glanced at the pool table where Charlie and Dick stopped their game to stare at them. Not everyday you get to see a showdown between detective and sheriff. Jackie stood behind the bar, arms crossed beneath her breasts, watching with avid interest. Gnawing on his lower lip, KC was about to tell Mac exactly what he thought, that his dead wife’s name had come up one too many times, that Mac was one of the last people to see Reese alive, and that Mac was the one who had lost a valuable piece of evidence. What in the hell was he suppose to think? Tina Sue poked her cute little blond head out the swinging doors that led to the back room. “Detective Tanner,” she said with a saucy little grin. “I didn’t hear you come in?” Great, KC thought. Just what he needed. He threw a couple of bills on the bar, picked up his hat and placed it firmly on his head. “Jackie, if you could please make a list of people you saw hanging out here on Friday night, I’d appreciate it.” He turned and tipped his hat to the petite blonde. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t stay. I’m on duty.” Her smile grew wide, showing the dimple in her left cheek. “Oh, I’ll still be here should you decide to come back when you get off work.” KC winked at Tina Sue. “I don’t think I’ll make it back tonight, sweetheart.” And with that he looked at the sheriff and asked, “Coming?” then walked out the door without another glance. So wrapped up in his pondering, he sent the wooden door crashing open, nearly knocking Reverend Jackson on his rear. KC grabbed the robust minister’s arm. As heavy as Thomas was, though, if he fell, he’d likely take KC with him. “Whoa there, son.” The pastor corrected his footing. KC dropped his hold. “Where’s the fire?” “Business, Pastor.” “Well, I should hope so. No good would come of you hanging out 123

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in the likes of this place.” KC narrowed his gaze. “Speaking of, what are you doing here?” “I’m a servant of the Lord, Kevin, I’m doing my job.” Mac picked that point to exit the establishment. “And what would that be, Reverend?” he asked, not bothering to glance in the man’s direction. Pastor Jackson shielded his gaze with his hand as he looked at the sheriff. “They serve the devil’s drink in there, boys. I’m here to make sure the drunkards all know they are going to hell if they don’t start changing their ways.” Mac chuckled, spit a stream of tobacco on the gravel, then adjusted his hat low over his eyes. “Hogwash,” he grumbled, and walked off. “Sorry about that, Pastor.” “No need to apologize, Kevin. No one said the Lord’s work was going to be easy.” “But that doesn’t mean—” He laid a hand on KC’s forearm. “The sheriff has his own problems. You worry about saving yourself. Speaking of”—he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand; KC worried about the minister’s health with all the added weight he carried—“how’s those feelings for the sheriff’s daughter coming?” “They’re still there.” “Have you been avoiding her?” “I’ve tried, but it’s hard when we work together. We’re bound to run into one another from time to time.” “Maybe you should stop in again, talk about it some more.” “Maybe,” KC mumbled as he took the hat off and slapped the dust from it, then placed it back on his head. He walked off, allowing Pastor Jackson to take up post by the door, damning everyone as they exited General Lee’s. He chuckled at the thought of Jackie chasing the heavyset minister off with a frying pan. Pastor Jackson should be afraid. Very afraid. Not of the Lord, but of Jackie Carter. 124

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KC smiled as he crawled into the cab of his SUV. * * * He had too much evidence that pointed at Mac for him to ignore. KC thumbed through the case file before him. Crime scene photos depicted gruesome scenes. George Stanton’s bloated body hung limp from the large wooden, handmade cross. What was this picture telling him? What was he missing? The killer had left little behind for them to use, besides the missing St. Christopher medal and a good set of tire prints. Find the truck that made the print and they would have their man. But in a community of nothing but four-wheel drives, that certainly wouldn’t be easy. Reese Walker’s crime-scene pictures were a harder study. KC could feel the bile churning in his stomach just at the remembrance. Again, the killer had left them little. Although they did have foreign hair, DNA, they still needed a suspect to compare it to. The victim’s blood had been everywhere, coating the walls, the floors. They even had a few smeared shoe prints in the blood, allowing them to ascertain that the perp probably wore a size ten. But KC would bet half of the men in McCreary County did. He laid back his head on the recliner as Zappa slept on the floor beside him, his large head resting on his paws. KC knew these two cases were connected, even if the roses wouldn’t have told him as much—he felt it clear to the marrow of his bones. One question nagged him. Most murderers killed in the same fashion, or MO, if you will. Strangled, throats slit, gunshot wound, etc. This unknown subject had methodically killed by two completely different means, seemingly unrelated. Why? KC wasn’t even sure, had they brought in a Special Agent or profiler from the Bureau, that they would even be able to profile this man. This perp was cocky, KC would give him that. With the sending of the Black Magic roses, he was leaving a trail, big as could be. But since 125

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Sammy normally stocked the flowers at the Pine Knot Florist shop, KC couldn’t put any real significance into the type being used. Hell, even Sidney Kurtz was buying them for Shar. Her face drifted behind his lids as he lay there somewhere lost between a state of dreams and wakefulness. Her auburn riot of curls lay silky and soft about her narrow shoulders. KC felt the familiar stirring of his groin at the thought of kissing her again, his hands tangled in her hair, her lips a haven of warmth, a place of security. Her tongue had mated with his just as he wished for their bodies to do, rolling on the cotton sheets of his bed, nothing but a tangle of skin and limbs. He shifted in his lounger, his hand running down the stiff denim of his shirt. He thought of her small fingers undoing the buttons one by one, then traveling to the snap on his jeans. Just as he imagined her fingers tugging on his zipper, a swift knock sounded on his door, sending Zappa to the base, barking and growling. KC slammed down the recliner’s foot rest and grumbled, glancing at the clock through the dim interior. Ten PM. Shit. He must have dozed off. He ran both hands down his tired face, then moved Zappa aside with his foot as he reached for the door and jerked it open. He didn’t know what he expected, but certainly not a petite blonde, grinning from ear to ear, holding out a six pack of beer. “For crying out loud, Tina Sue.” “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Her smile widened; her blue eyes twinkled. “What I ought to do is arrest you. Where the hell did you get the beer?” KC grabbed the six pack from her outstretched hand. “I’ll take that.” “Not even going to offer me one?” she asked, her lips turning down in a well-practiced pout. KC pulled one of the longnecks from the cardboard case and sat the others on the stand by his recliner. “Nope,” he said as he twisted off the 126

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top and took a long pull. Tina stepped into his small cabin, glancing around. KC leaned against the frame of the opened door and watched her with avid interest. After the dream he just had, he could very easily use Tina to scratch that itch the dream had begun. And from what he had seen of her, especially showing up at his house at this time of night, he was pretty sure she would oblige. But KC wasn’t interested. “You like what you see?” he asked as Tina wandered from stand to stand, picking up small items and placing them back where she had found them. She shrugged, then glanced at him. “I do now.” KC took another swig from the bottle, then palmed it at his chest. “Look, Tina, I’m flattered…” She approached him, placed a finger on his lips and kept him from uttering, “nothing’s going to happen.” “Please, KC, we’re both adults.” “Correction, I have been an adult for as long as you have been alive. You, on the other hand, just became one. Big difference. You’re nearly jailbait for someone my age.” “But I’m not.” Tina Sue leaned in, her breasts flattening against his chest, his hand and beer bottle caught between. She had definitely and thoroughly proved her point. It would be too easy to cup one of her pert breasts and fondle the nipple to erection. She leaned up and placed her warm lips against his. * * * Shar hadn’t thought her actions through. Coming here would be nothing more than a big mistake. As far as she knew, Kate Kershaw might even have taken the drive up and was with KC this very minute, though it wasn’t likely. The prima donna rarely came to Pine Knot during the week. She had been unable to sleep. Needing someone to talk to, Shar 127

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naturally thought of KC. It seemed like he had always been there for her, always gave her a shoulder to lean on. She missed that about him. Since she had come back from college, though—she had to admit her blatant pursuit of him might have had something to do with it—he had avoided her like the plague. Her father had become distant over the past few days, taken to drinking heavy amounts of alcohol and she needed to talk to someone about it. It just wasn’t like Mac. Shar wanted to get to the bottom of it, and knew the only person who might have the answers was KC. She pulled her car up his winding drive, seeing a blue compact car sitting a dozen yards ahead. Though Shar didn’t recognize it, she knew it didn’t belong to Kate. Kate drove a red BMW and would never be caught in anything less. Shar thought it funny that every time KC and Kate went on a date, she insisted on driving. Evidently the SUV with the word Sheriff emblazoned on the side wasn’t her kind of ride. Cutting the lights, she inched up the rest of the dirt-and-gravel drive in the dark. A warm glow of light came through the opened door of the house. What had her stopping and throwing the car suddenly into reverse, though, was KC Tanner standing within the frame. Some pert blonde leaned against him with her lips locked to his, and KC’s hand trapped between them—no doubt fondling her breast. She should have known better. He was not only a jerk, but a cheat, because that pert little blonde was definitely not Kate Kershaw, as Kate sported a chin-length bob. Shar’s heart plummeted to her stomach. KC Tanner had always been her dream man, the man she held out for, the man who could do no wrong. Her hopes and dreams crashed down around her. As she backed onto the highway, she turned on her headlights. But instead of heading home as she knew she probably should, she spun her tires and traveled in the direction of Sidney Kurtz’s. * * * KC lifted his head from Tina Sue’s at the sound of a rapidly 128

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retreating car. “Dammit,” he cursed, seeing Shar backing from the drive. Bottle still trapped between them, KC gently pushed Tina Sue from him. “I think maybe you should go.” “You sure I can’t talk you into anything that…um…adults do when the lights go down?” “As flattered as I am, Tina, I’m going to have to tell you no. I have a girlfriend, I believe I already told you that.” “Then why isn’t she here, taking care of her man? You can’t tell me you don’t have needs, Detective.” Oh he had needs; he just didn’t intend on acting on them. KC glanced out the door as Shar’s car reached the bottom of the hill and backed onto the highway, speeding off in the opposite direction of her home. Dammit to hell. “Sorry, Tina, I’m going to have to pass,” he said, feeling the strong desire to go after Shar and slake those needs on which he kept a tight rein. Instead, he showed Tina to the porch and quietly closed the door behind her, reaching for another of the six pack. At this point, he might just drink the whole damn thing.

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CHAPTER 13

Instead of staying home and heading off to bed alone, which probably would have been the wisest choice, KC walked into General Lee’s, his Stetson pulled low on his forehead. Staying home with nothing but his rolling thoughts had become his enemy, since lately so many of those thoughts centered on either his boss’s guilt, or bedding his boss’s daughter—neither being something he should entertain. “Well, well”—Jackie grinned from behind the bar—“look what the cat dragged back in. Draft?” KC straddled the stool, placed his well-worn cowboy hat on the bar, and said, “Not this time. I think I need something a bit stronger, like whiskey. Give me a Jack straight up.” Jackie grasped a clean glass from beneath the bar, then poured KC two fingers of the dark amber liquid. “Stuff will put hair on your chest. Something must really be bothering you to drink whiskey. You’re normally a beer man.” KC took a hard pull from the glass, feeling the welcoming burn 130

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clear down his esophagus to his stomach, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He knew his look was a somber one, but at this point, nothing could possibly turn his mood for the better. Not even an entire bottle of Jack. “You look like you need an ear,” Jackie offered. “What I need is about fifteen hundred miles.” Jackie laughed. “What for?” “To put between me and this damned town.” “This case you’re working on getting to you, KC?” “That and other things,” he grumbled. “Maybe when it’s all over, I’ll do just that. Pack up what little I have and head out West.” She patted his hand on the bar. “Can’t run from your problems, KC. You ought to know that by now.” KC glanced at the lined face of Jackie Carter. He didn’t see an older woman standing in front of him. No, he saw lines of wisdom. The kind that comes from years of living and learning the rules. “I know that. But it’s not so much the problems as the people.” “What kind of people you trying to get away from, KC?” the sheriff asked, hearing just enough of the conversation to comment. KC groaned. “People like you, Mac.” Although KC had been blatantly honest, he knew Mac would take his snide remark as a wisecrack. Mac slapped him squarely on the shoulder as he took a seat. “Ah, hell, KC. Why in tarnation would you want to run from the only friend you have?” he asked, and chuckled. Mac wasn’t being mean, only stating the truth. KC was not an easy person to get to know. After all, he had earned the title “Stone Cold.” “Maybe then I could get a drink in privacy.” Mac again ignored KC’s slam. “There’s something I think we need to talk about,” he started when Shar entered the bar with Sidney Kurtz on her heels. She wore a pair of tight, low-rise jeans and a belly shirt, revealing way too much cleavage. “Damn,” Mac spat. 131

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Mac’s curse actually brought a smile to KC’s lips, even if the sight of the two lovebirds didn’t, especially seeing Shar in an outfit that did nothing more than put a man’s libido into overdrive. Besides, someone other than him, wallowed in misery at the site of Shar and the slimeball defense counselor. Mac turned back to Jackie. “Darlin’, I need what he’s drinking,” he mumbled, sounding defeated, as he pointed at KC’s nearly empty glass. Jackie laughed. “And I suppose you’re going to be wanting a refill, KC?” KC nodded, though he ought to buy the damned bottle and head home alone, drink himself into oblivion. As if on cue, Billy Ray Cyrus’s “Could’ve Been Me” began on the jukebox, reminding KC that he had been the one to walk away from Shar, not the other way around—that he had been the one who forced her into the arms of another. It could have been him. Funny how life seemed to remind him of his own tribulations at just the right times. “You look about as miserable as I feel,” Mac pointed out. “What the hell has a hold of you? Case got you that uptight?” What was he supposed to say to that? Admit how he wanted to march over to Mac’s precious little daughter, yank her from the grasp of the little prick thoroughly wrapped around her on the dance floor, and take her home to his bed, show her what he had fantasized about for days? “I really don’t want to talk about it, Mac. I came here to wallow in self-pity.” “Hell, you act like you have it tough. Try my boots on for size.” KC glanced at Mac. His gaze appeared haunted, saddened. “What’s got you bugged, Mac?” Mac nodded his head in Shar’s direction. “Don’t ever have kids, KC.” KC sighed. “I don’t intend to, Mac—too damned selfish. So what has you regretting it? You love that girl more than you’re own life.” 132

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“That piece of trash she’s fancied herself in love with.” The mouthful of whiskey KC just took spewed across the bar’s surface. Jackie glowered at him as she grasped her rag and made quick work of wiping up the mess. Mac patted KC’s back. “What the hell did I say?” KC shrugged off Mac’s pat. “You telling me Shar is in love with that—that—” “Ah hell, she hasn’t told me as much, but look at them, for crying out loud.” KC turned on his stool. Shar had wrapped her arms around Sidney’s neck, his around her waist; they stared into each other’s eyes as though they were the only two in the room. Her belly shirt rose up her torso to just below her breast line. KC’s groin tightened. Hell, she had no idea what that outfit did to him. Much more skin and KC would drag her back to his little cabin and kick the damn dog outside for the night. What he had in mind wasn’t even fit for Zappa to watch. KC shook his head, turned back around, tipped his glass, and drained the contents. If Mac only knew… “Maybe I should have encouraged her crush on you.” KC damn near spit his mouthful across the bar again. Instead he choked it down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What has you babbling like an idiot, Mac? You sure in the hell cannot be serious!” “The hell I ain’t,” Mac grumbled. “If she’d be with you, at least I would be able to sleep at night knowin’ you wasn’t going to hurt her. Break her poor little heart. She ain’t got any experience with men, KC. I think I sheltered her way too much.” KC’s eyes widened. “And you think I’m the answer?” Mac laid a hand on KC’s shoulder. KC’s eyes drifted to the object of both their despair in the mirror image above the bar. Shar sidled closer to Sidney. KC would bet the pencil dick sported an erection beneath his pleated trousers. The thought made KC livid enough to 133

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want to smash the little bastard in the nose. The feel of the bones shattering against his fist would give him extreme satisfaction. “I was being short-sighted, KC. I wasn’t looking at the whole picture. I knew you were too old for my baby. But given the circumstances—” KC raised his hands in the air. “No way, Mac. I know what the hell you’re thinking. I won’t be a damn pawn in your game.” Mac turned his pleading eyes—correction—inebriated, bloodshot eyes on him. Mac would definitely wake up and regret this conversation come morning. “She’s my baby, KC. All I got left in this life. I ain’t about to lose her to a man damn near my age. Not to mention one I despise!” “Mac, you’re forgetting I’m nearly as old.” “There’s only fourteen years between—” “And that’s too damn old,” he broke in. “Think about what you are saying, Mac. You want me rutting between the sheets with your baby? Is that what you want? ’Cause let me tell you something—you have me take out that daughter of yours, there isn’t going to be any romancing. It’s not how I work. I’m not about to get married. You know that. I take your daughter, buy her supper, then take her back to my place and bang the living shit out of her. Is that what you want, Mac? What you are asking me to do?” Mac said nothing, looked at his empty glass. KC knew he couldn’t be so cruel, would never dream of treating Shar in such a base manner, but he wanted to open Mac’s eyes and let him see what he was offering KC—his pride and joy; the love of his life. And KC wasn’t far from marching over there and taking what his loins had been itching for. Hell, Mac had damn near just given him permission. “What I want, KC, is someone who would be good to her. Sidney Kurtz ain’t it. You and I both know that.” “And you and I both know that I’m not the answer either. She needs to find herself someone closer to her age.” What on earth was he 134

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doing? Here he was talking Mac out of the one thing he did want. What the hell was wrong with him? He needed his head examined. Maybe another trip to see Pastor Jackson was due—hell, long overdue. “But she wants you, KC. Always has. She’d take you over that slithering snake any day. You’re the answer—like it or not—to my problems.” KC laughed. “I’m nobody’s answer. Besides, what about Kate? You think about her?” “You going to marry that girl, KC? That what you’re telling me?” “No.” “That’s what I thought. Then you can do this for me.” One brow lifted skyward. “Do what?” “Get my daughter out of the arms of that man. We’re friends, by God. You owe me this. I saved your sorry ass.” KC fingered the scar by his left eye. Mac had gone beyond pathetic and must certainly be three sheets to the wind. Now he was trying to get KC to pay back a debt from years ago, using his daughter as payment. Things had just gone from bad to worse. He should have stayed home and kept ol’ Zappa company. At least Zappa wouldn’t be sticking fool ideas, no matter how tempting, into his head. “I think you’ve had too much to drink, Mac. Go sleep it off. In the morning you’ll realize what you just asked me to do.” “I’m not asking you to sleep with her, dammit.” “The hell you aren’t.” “What I am asking you to do,” Mac nearly growled, baring his teeth, “is get her away from Sidney Kurtz—if that takes you pretending you like my little angel, then so be it. You owe me.” Pretending? Now there was no stretch. “Mac, look at me.” Mac obliged, his sad, reddened eyes holding steady. KC could see Mac’s seriousness. “If I do this, which I’m not saying I am, I will sleep with your daughter. There isn’t any other way 135

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around it. Look at her, for crying out loud. Any hot-blooded male could not possibly turn that down. Is that what you want? You want me banging your daughter, Mac? Could you live with that?” Mac glanced back at Shar and Sidney who now cuddled in a corner booth, giggling like two school-aged adolescents. KC swore a shudder passed down Mac’s spine. Finally, Mac glanced back at KC. “If that’s what it takes. If that’s the deal you are offering me, then you have my permission to sleep with my precious little angel.” KC shook his head. “How much have you had to drink, you dumb son of a bitch?” “Enough.” “I’d say, because if some cocky son of a bitch just said to me what I did to you about my flesh and blood, I’d knock his damn block off.” “I’m desperate, KC.” “Why, Mac? What the hell has you so upset over her dating Sidney Kurtz that you would be offering her to me on a silver platter? Where is this coming from?” Mac stuck a pinch of tobacco between his teeth and gums and grinned at KC. Tiny green and brown leaves stuck to his teeth. “You’re just the better of two evils, KC. I’d rather see her with you, is all,” he said, then teetered on his stool and damn near fell to the floor. KC grabbed a hold of the sheriff by his shirt collar and righted him. KC tossed a few bills on the counter, placed a shoulder beneath Mac’s arm and lifted him from the stool and onto his feet. “Come on, buddy. It’s time to get you home.” KC glanced at Shar on his way out. He was in no way her savior, as Mac put it. Hell, she was in more danger from KC than any other man in the county. Knowing how she felt about him, there was no way he could take what Mac offered him and not rip her heart out in the end. At least Sidney might be able to offer her a future. Because with KC’s past, should anyone find out what he was guilty of, he’d quickly become lower on the scale of life than the snake Mac just accused 136

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Sidney of being. * * * A tousled and disheveled Pastor Jackson opened the door to the rectory, squinting at the man standing on his doorstep at two in the morning. KC dropped Mac off at home, and it was all he could do to keep from going back to General Lee’s and take what Mac offered. He hated to see Shar in Sidney’s arm probably more so than Mac. And it certainly wouldn’t take much persuasion on anyone’s part to ease the ache in his lower abdomen. He had just been offered a slice of heaven. And call him a fool, but it was one he didn’t plan on accepting. “Sorry to come calling so late.” Heat rose up KC’s neck, embarrassed for acting so foolhardy as to get the reverend out of bed. But he had been desperate. Thomas rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then raked his fingers through his mussed white hair. On a yawn, he said, “Well it is highly irregular to come a-calling this time of night. But if you have something that needs discussed—” “I do,” KC interrupted. “Can we talk?” The pastor stepped back and allowed KC to enter his living room. “Have a seat and I’ll make some coffee.” “No please, Pastor, no coffee. I won’t take up much of your time.” Thomas sat heavily into a over-stuffed pillow chair across from KC and folded his beefy hands in his lap. “What can I do for you?” “It’s about Shar.” “You didn’t do something so foolhardy as act on those sins of the flesh, did you, Kevin? You smell like you’ve been drinking.” KC looked to his own folded hands. “I had a few drinks.” “You just keep adding to those sins. You aren’t helping your soul any.” He ignored the reverend’s attempt at salvation. At this point, there would be no saving him anyway. “I need some advice.” Pastor Jackson sat back in his chair and stretched out his short legs, 137

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crossed them at the ankle, and folded his arms across his chest. “Now what kind of advice can I be giving you?” “Last time we talked, I told you about my feelings for Sharalee MacArthur.” “You did.” “They haven’t changed. I mean, I’ve tried to not think about her, but it’s hard, da…umm…hard.” “Are you telling me your soul is that weak, Kevin, that you cannot resist the sins of the flesh?” “Look, Pastor, it’s just that the girl is involved with someone a bit unsavory, and now Mac seems to think I’m the answer.” “I don’t understand.” “He’s basically giving me his daughter. He has it in that fool head of his that I am suddenly the answer to his problems—” “That if you take the girl out, that you will get her mind off what the sheriff considers not good for her. You on the other hand, don’t believe you are the answer, but that the sheriff is asking you to put your soul at risk. Am I close?” KC sighed and leaned back. “You’re in the ballpark. I just don’t think I would be the best thing for Shar.” “What do you plan to do about it?” “Nothing. I mean, I have no designs to romance the girl at all. My thoughts aren’t of the honorable nature, as I told you. I can’t do what Mac is asking. Not without, as you put it, bowing to the sins of the flesh.” Pastor Jackson steepled his fingers. “Then tell him no. Why is that so hard?” KC fingered the scar by his left eye. “You see this, Pastor?” He nodded slowly. “A bullet just missed going through the center of my forehead, and would have had it not been for Mac. I was a greenhorn on the force.” KC looked past the minister’s shoulder and off into space. He 138

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remembered it like it was only yesterday. “I was Mac’s partner back then. He didn’t want me—hell, nobody wanted the new guy. “I wasn’t but about twenty-four myself. I went out on a call, thought if Mac didn’t want me as his partner that I could do this one myself. Prove to them my worth. We had a case of suspected bootleggers. I always believed the better in people. I never thought this guy would shoot me. Hell, I had known him all my life, grew up in those parts. Anyway, I went to confront him. As the bootlegger came out of the clearing, he leveled his rifle, trained it right between my eyes. Hell, he would have shot me right then and there, buried me deep in the woods and no one would have known. I would have been a missing number. Not a soul would have known what happened to me. And eventually, they would have stopped looking. “But luckily Mac had kept his eye out for me. He knew where I was headed. Must have known I would try something stupid like going alone on a call without backup. He followed me out there, traipsed through the back way, and tackled the ol’ guy to the ground. The gun went off, grazed the side of my head. He saved my life.” “So you are saying to pay this debt, you have to sleep with his daughter?” KC laughed. Hell, the first bit of real humor he had felt all day. “I don’t think that was exactly Mac’s intentions.” Pastor Jackson smiled back. “But those are your intentions. Am I right, Kevin?” A somberness fell back over him. “I know it’s not what I should do, but hell, I’m a man, and Mac all but handed his daughter to me.” “Go home, Kevin. Sleep it off. In the morning Mac will be glad you didn’t take him up on his little offer.” He shrugged. “You’re right; I figured as much anyway. I just thought that by coming here I would stop myself from going back to General Lee’s and settling that debt between me and Mac. Let me tell you, Pastor, it was darn tempting.” 139

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“The devil works in seductive ways, Kevin. You did the right thing by coming here. Now go home and get some sleep. This county needs you wide awake and on the job. I believe you have a case to solve.” KC stood, shook the Pastor’s hand, and left the house. Pastor Jackson had just saved him a good deal of trouble, and the minister didn’t even realize it. KC’s intentions weren’t of the honorable kind. No, he hadn’t really wanted to visit with the pastor—he wanted to go back to the bar, yank Shar from her booth, and take her back to his cabin in the woods. Mac had better watch the next time he gets into a drunken stupor and offers his little girl to him, for KC knew he wouldn’t turn it down a second time. Hell, he’d be crazy to.

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CHAPTER 14

The heels of KC’s boot clicked off the marble floor as he walked past Fran, Mac’s secretary, tipped his hat with his thumb, then used the same finger to point at the closed door. “Is he in?” Fran smiled; her dark hair, lightly streaked with gray, was tucked neatly into a bun. “He’s in, all right, but in one helluva mood. I’d watch out if I were you, KC. Don’t you go and upset him further. I have a long day in front of me and I don’t need him growlin’.” “Just my appearance ought to do that, Fran.” He laughed, opened the door to the office, and walked in unannounced. “What the hell do you want, KC? Don’t you have a case that needs solving?” Mac continued what he had been about to do when KC stormed in and upended the small silver flask, dumping a portion of the contents into his coffee as if KC witnessing it hadn’t even bothered him. “Whoa there, Mac. Isn’t it a bit early for that?” The sheriff clenched his jaw and gave KC a look that told him it 141

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was none of his damn business. KC made it his concern anyway. Mac, being on duty, put others at risk. “You mind telling me what you’re doing?” “As a matter of fact, KC, I do. Besides, you’re the last person I want to see this morning. So I suggest you get the hell out of here and solve that case you seemed to be having such a devil of a time doing.” KC ignored the potshot, took a seat facing Mac’s desk, leaned back and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. He placed his Stetson on the chair beside him. “We need to talk.” Mac grumbled an unintelligible reply. Steepling his fingers, KC glanced at Mac over the tops, beginning to wonder if he recalled the events. “Do you even remember last night at all?” “I sure in the hell do. That’s why I needed the dollop of whiskey in my coffee. You know as much as I do that it takes the edge off the hangover.” KC couldn’t argue with that remedy. He had used the technique himself from time to time when he used to drink heavily on a nightly basis. Now, he rarely drank enough to get a hangover. Somewhere along the line, he realized the next day was not worth the price of acting the fool the night before, not to mention his parents being killed by a driver heavily under the influence. “Not your drunken state of being, Mac—the part about where you asked me to pay back my debt to you.” Mac glanced at KC’s scar, then took a healthy swig from his coffee. “I surely hope you didn’t do something asinine like listen to a drunken fool.” KC couldn’t help himself. He nearly chuckled over the idea of making Mac sweat a little. Besides, Mac deserved it, offering his daughter as payment for an outstanding debt. “You think I’d pass that up, Mac? You didn’t have to twist my arm. Your daughter is one heck of a looker. You can consider that debt paid 142

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in full. After what I gave her last night, she won’t be looking up Sidney much more. As a matter of fact, just this morning when I had to disentangle myself from her—” Mac’s eyes widened like saucers. His face reddened to the color of ripe tomatoes. “You stupid son of a bitch. You went by the ramblings of a besotted dolt? What the hell did you do to my precious angel?” “Exactly what you asked me to do, Mac.” “I asked you to get her away from the slime, Kurtz. Don’t tell me you took advantage and slept with my baby. You’re old enough to be her father.” “Oh, she called me that last night and a whole lot more. I’m surprised I’m awake as I am.” KC’s grin spread across his face. He thoroughly enjoyed watching Mac squirm. “Called you what?” he spat. “Daddy—and you want to hear what else? Your little girl, Shar, damn, but she’s insatiable. I almost felt the need to call in this morning—but then I was afraid she might never let me up for air. Once started—” Mac slammed his fist on his desktop and stood so quickly his chair rocked precariously on all fours then crashed to the tile. “Why I ought to—” “What, Mac? Wrap your hands around my throat when I only took what you offered me?” “You selfish son of a bitch.” “No, Mac”—the smile left KC’s face as he leaned in—“you are. Maybe next time you ought to beware of the implications before you go offering someone something you have no right to.” “But I thought you were my best friend. Friends ought to know the difference between the truth and the ramblings of a fool.” His lips curled back in a snarl. If Mac’s face got much redder, KC feared his head might explode—clean from his shoulders. Knowing he should put a stop to this trickery, KC narrowed his 143

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gaze. “I am a friend. And that’s why I went to see Reverend Jackson last night instead of going back to General Lee’s and taking what you offered me. No, demanded me to do, since I owed you one, as you put it.” Mac’s face paled. He righted his chair and sat heavily into it. “You didn’t sleep with Shar?” “No, Mac, I didn’t sleep with your precious angel.” “Thank God!” Mac’s comment stung, dug deep to KC’s soul. Was he truly such a bad choice for Shar? Of course he knew the answer to that without asking. But it hurt like hell that Mac would agree. “Maybe you ought to cut back on the drinking.” “It’s just these cases—” “They have me wrapped up, too. And I want the SOB caught just as much as you, but we aren’t going to do it sitting in here.” Mac wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. KC pondered about his health. Though the room was fairly cool, Mac’s brow beaded heavy with perspiration. He grabbed a pack of Red Man from his desk corner and added a pinch of tobacco between his cheek and gums. “You feeling all right?” “Just a little warm.” Then, as if to get KC’s mind from him, Mac asked, “You come up with any leads to Kip Lawrence’s whereabouts?” “No, but we’re working on it. I have the deputies calling anyone that might have known Kip, anything we can dig up on him. But so far we’ve come up empty-handed. No vehicle that matches his description, no plates, no Kip.” “You think we’ll find him?” “It’s only a matter of time. I feel it here.” KC thumped his chest with two fingers. “Gut instinct tells me we won’t find him alive, though. You ever find that St. Christopher medal?” Mac glanced at his desk, staring at the coffee cup he clutched tightly in his hand. KC detected a slight tremble in the sheriff’s fingers. 144

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“Damnedest thing, I haven’t found it anywhere.” KC hadn’t thought so, but he wisely kept it to himself. “What about the hair we found in Reese Walker’s hand? Did we get any results back on that?” Mac tossed a manila file at KC. He opened it and glanced through several of the papers. “We know it’s human hair,” Mac said, “but it could take months to get the DNA back on it.” “If we had hair to compare to it, it might just be the break we’re looking for.” “But we don’t. I think our killer is leaving behind only what he wants us to find, knowing he isn’t giving us much to go on.” “You could be right. But then that would mean our man is smart enough to know what we’d look for; what sort of evidence is found and gathered at a scene.” “True.” “What about the first crime scene? Was there any foreign hairs found on George’s corpse we might compare to the ones we found at the second?” “Nothing. We found stray fibers, that kind of stuff. Maybe if we could get us a suspect, we could compare them to the fibers of his vehicle—that kind of thing.” The intercom buzzed. Mac hit the button. “What is it, Fran?” he grumbled. “KC has a phone call, line one.” “You mind?” KC asked, pointing at Mac’s receiver. “Go right ahead.” Picking the phone up, he pressed line one. “Hello?” “Hi, sweetie, it’s Kate.” He cleared his throat. Hell, had he known it was Kate, he would have taken the call in private. KC needed to tell her that things had run its course, that the time for her to find someone better had come. “What’s up?” 145

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“I was wondering if it’s worth my time driving to Whitley City tonight. You have plans?” “Actually, I was hoping you would say that, Kate. I think we need to talk.” The sheriff glanced up at him, more than likely wondering if KC intended on stringing the poor girl on any longer. “Dinner?” “Where do you want to meet?” “How about Whitley City Motel and Restaurant on Highway 27? About eight o’clock?” “That will work for me. See you soon, sweetie.” The line went dead. KC replaced the receiver on the cradle. “You finally going to tell that pretty young thing she needs to find someone better than you, KC? She deserves more.” “I won’t argue that, Mac.” Although he wasn’t distraught over letting Kate go, KC couldn’t help but think of the six years invested in the relationship. He had been happy with her, more than happy, but he wasn’t ready to offer her any more now than the day they met. KC was a self-confirmed bachelor, and would die one. There was no two ways around it. He was just too damned selfish and work-driven to share his life with anyone. “I have a few leads I want to run down,” KC said, standing. “If you find anything—” “You’ll be the first to know.” KC grasped his Stetson, placed it on his head, and walked out of the office, nodding at Fran. He needed to find answers and soon, although being a Friday he’d bet they were one day too late. The question was, who would receive the Black Magic roses next? KC aimed to find out. * * * The little bell over the shop door tingled as KC walked into the brightly colored interior. The smell of roses and other various flowers nearly overwhelmed him. He had never much been one for flowers. Sammy came through the curtained door, a smile lighting her face 146

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when she saw him. “Why Detective Tanner, to what do I owe the pleasure this time? I hope it’s not more bad news.” “Not bad news, Sammy.” KC took off his hat and laid it on the counter. “But I’m afraid it is business.” Her brows knitted together. “What can I do for you?” “I need to know if you had an order today for the Black Magic roses.” Sammy’s smile shed her face. KC could see she feared yet another disappearance linked to the flowers in her shop. “I haven’t had an order for them since last week. But I’m not the only florist in the area either.” “You’re the only one in Pine Knot and so far the only one he’s used. Unless he knows we figured out the trail, he’ll be back.” KC tossed a business card on the counter. “This has my beeper and cell phone number on it. Should you get an order for these flowers, call me immediately. Take the order—we don’t want to arouse suspicion—then call me and tell me who the flowers are intended for. This should point us to his next victim. If we can get there before he does, we can nail him.” Sammy picked up the card and tucked it into the pocket of her smock. “I’ll call as soon as I hang up the phone.” “Thanks, Sammy.” KC winked. “Bob Miller ought to see what he has in you and marry you before some other lucky guy comes along and sweeps you off your feet.” “Thanks, KC.” Sammy blushed. “But I don’t think Bob has to worry about that. I’ll call you if an order comes in. Let’s just hope you catch him before someone else dies.” “I hope so, Sammy,” KC said, then turned and left the shop. * * * Shar packed all the files in their folders, banged them against the desktop to straighten the papers, opened the drawer, and shoved them in. It had been a long day and she wanted nothing more than to relax 147

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and go home. As she sat back in her chair, Shar propped her chin in her palm, allowing her thoughts to drift to the night before. How much longer could she hold Sidney at bay? It seemed as time went on the more obvious he made it he would not wait forever to consummate their relationship. She supposed she hadn’t helped matters by dragging him to the bar and hanging all over him for KC’s sake. After KC’s little display in the doorway of his house, she went, hurt and upset, to Sidney’s to soothe her wounded ego. Much to her surprise, they stumbled across KC nursing a whiskey at General Lee’s and not in the arms of the petite little blonde. How could she possibly show KC his actions didn’t bother her? They did. Tremendously. The hurt cut clear through to her heart. It was bad enough he used Kate as an excuse to steer clear of her, not to mention the differences in their age, which he continuously brought up. Shar had seen the blonde before, knew she was Jackie’s niece from Ohio, and the fact she had just turned eighteen. Her age hadn’t seemed to bother the detective. KC had turned out to be nothing but a liar. Suddenly, she felt sorry for the prima donna, Kate Kershaw. Maybe Shar ought to tell the poor dear what her darling KC was up to while she sat in her mansion on the hill in Williamsburg. Sidney walked through the door, pulling up on the sides of his trousers. “About ready?” Shar furrowed her brow. She did not recall making plans with Sidney. “For what?” His smile turned up his cheeks. Something about that grin made her mistrust the attorney’s attentions where their evening’s plans were concerned. “Dinner. You have to eat, you know.” Shar weighed her options. Moments ago, she had been ready to head for the hills. Knowing Mac and how much he had been drinking lately, he’d be back at General Lee’s, leaving her to the house and her 148

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rolling thoughts. Self-pity. That’s what she had been feeling lately. Bucket-loads of it. Maybe going home alone would not be such a good idea. She stood, grasped her suit jacket, shoving her arms into the sleeves. “Where to?” “How about the Whitley City Motel and Restaurant? I hope you don’t mind—I’ve already called in reservations for eight o’clock. I’ve also taken the liberty of having a bottle of champagne chilled.” “Champagne? What on earth for?” “Tomorrow will be our one week anniversary.” Shar shook her head. “I hadn’t realized.” Some of the gaiety left Sidney’s plastered smile. “It’s all right I took the liberty?” Shar grasped his elbow. “It’s perfectly fine, Sid. I’m sorry it slipped my mind.” He patted the hand resting in the crook of his arm and winked at her. “It’s fine, understandable even. You’ve been very busy working.” At the door, Shar turned and locked her office, testing the knob. As she walked down the hallway, she smiled at the man pushing the mail cart. “Anything in there for me, Garrett?” A blush rose up Garrett’s neck and reddened his cheeks. He was fairly new at the office and the only male working there. “Sure, Miss MacArthur.” He dug through stacks of envelopes, then withdrew two large yellow manila ones and a smaller, number ten sized one with no return address. Shar turned it over several times, noticing it had been mailed from Whitley City’s post office. An icy chill ran down her spine. “Wonder what this is?” Shar glanced up and noticed Garrett still standing before her. “I’m sorry—” She dug deep into her purse, pulled out a few dollars, and handed them to Garrett. “Here, you go.” He shoved the bills into his pocket. “Thanks, Miss MacArthur,” he said, then pushed the cart down the corridor. 149

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“Strange man,” Sidney said, watching his retreat. Shar smiled. “He’s new here. I’m sure he’s just nervous.” Shoving the envelopes into her briefcase, she pulled on Sidney’s arm. “I believe we have a date.” * * * “Sharon’s Boutique and Florist. Sharon speaking. How can I help you?” “I’d like to place an order.” Sharon rooted through the cut leaves, ribbons, and stems littering her counter in search of her pad and pen. “Pick up or would you like these delivered?” “Delivered please.” “Do you have an account with us, Mr…?” “Burton. Lee Burton. I don’t believe so. Will this be a problem?” Sharon had heard of Mr. Burton. He used to be an ex-deputy in Whitley City years back. “No, not at all. I just need to know where to send the bill.” She scrawled the address on the paper as Lee recited it. “What would you like delivered?” “Do you have Black Magic roses?” Sharon glanced quickly in the chilled case. “Looks like we might have about a dozen. Will that do?” A slight chuckle could be heard. “Yes, a dozen should do.” “And who is the lucky lady?” “My estranged wife.” He paused, but Sharon waited for him to continue. “I’m trying to win her back. I’ve been a fool.” “What’s her name and address, Mr. Burton?” After writing down the flowers’ destination, she asked, “How do you want Ms. Burton’s card signed?” “My dearest, Renee—our time apart has been too long, and I fear one more day will only bring my death. Lee.” “How lovely. I will get it right out this afternoon, Mr. Burton. 150

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Thank you for your business.” “No—Sharon, thank you.” And the line went dead.

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CHAPTER 15

KC walked from the station and headed for the Blazer. After looking at his watch, he figured he had about forty-five minutes before he had to meet Kate at the Whitley City Hotel. He could go home, take a much-needed shower, and still be on time. He hadn’t exactly been pleased with the day’s events, not receiving anything in the way of clues for either case, nothing new on the whereabouts of Kip Lawrence, and to top it off, he received no call from Sammy at the Pine Knot Florist. Either the killer changed flower shops, or had taken the week off. KC prayed for the latter. Reaching into his pocket for a set of keys, he didn’t see the woman before him until the tips of her blue pumps caught his attention and he glanced up, peering at her from beneath the brim on his worn hat. He stood nearly eye to eye with Babs Anderson, TV reporter for WCEW. She stood six feet tall with long, muscular legs that appeared to be a mile long, reaching up beneath the short blue skirt she wore. Her pale 152

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blond hair lay softly about her shoulders. Her eyes were nearly the color of a cat’s with the help of green-colored contact lenses. “Any suspects, Detective?” Babs shoved a microphone toward him. “We don’t have anything new to report at this time,” KC said, dismissing her as he pushed away the mike and proceeded toward the vehicle with Babs fast on his tracks. He could hear the click of her stilettos on the cement behind him and the whirring of the video camera her assistant held on his shoulder. “What about Kip Lawrence? Any news on his whereabouts? Detective, the public has a right to know. Should we be worried?” KC turned on the heel of his worn boot. How the media managed to receive their information so quickly baffled him. The department was usually close-lipped, though they did have their fair share of glory hounds. Someone had obviously tipped off Babs as the information concerning the disappearance of Kip had yet to be released. “I don’t know where your sources got that information.” She offered a smug smile, but gave nothing in the way of an explanation. “Can you tell us if you believe Kip Lawrence might be next in this strange string of bizarre murders in McCreary County? How do you think you’ll find Mr. Lawrence? Dead or alive?” KC placed a hand over the microphone. “Listen, Ms. Anderson,” he growled, “go find someone else to harass. I’m not at liberty to discuss this case with you—nor do I want to.” “You’re the Detective; you’re the one who’s supposed to have all the answers. I smell a big story brewing and I want details.” She crossed her arms beneath her ample breasts. “I’m not leaving until I get them.” “Stand here all night for all I care.” He pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the door to his Blazer, and stepped into the cab. Babs placed her body between the door and KC, not allowing him to shut it, once again shoving the microphone at him. “Just this morning we were told about a possible link at the Pine Knot Florist, the 153

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killer leaving a bloody trail of red roses. Any truth to this?” KC shook his head. Mother of God, no wonder the killer hadn’t called Sammy. Someone had leaked the link about the flowers to the press, giving the name of the florist. Jumping from his SUV, he slammed the door, ignored the whining Babs, and jogged back to the station. Luckily, Mac sat in his office perusing files. The sheriff looked up from an opened folder when KC barged in. “What’s up, KC—looks like you saw a ghost?” “Someone leaked the link of the roses to the press. That’s why Sammy didn’t call us today. The killer knew we thought he’d use her again. He changed florists.” “But which florist is the question.” “I intend to call all the area ones and see if any of them had an order for Black Magic roses today. I won’t leave until I’ve called each and every one.” Mac glanced at his watch. “I hate to tell you this, KC, but most of them will be closed by now.” “Then we’ll call the owners at home if we can find their numbers.” “This could take some time. There are several in the area—not to mention the killer could have had the order wired in.” “Not likely.” Mac scratched the back of his neck. “Why the hell not?” KC leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk. “Because so far he’s had the roses billed to the deceased. This leaves no money trail. Besides, knowing Sammy, after finding out about the deaths of these men, she wouldn’t dream of sending the bill to the widow. Therefore, the wife never suspects they didn’t come from her husband. But without using an easily traced credit card, he isn’t going to be able to phone a florist out of town and have them wired.” “You have a point.” “I think he used the local Yellow Pages and randomly picked another florist.” 154

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“Pine Knot’s only florist is Sammy’s.” “Whitley City has two; Marshes Siding has two. Not to mention some of the other neighboring communities.” KC grabbed the red phone book from Mac’s desk and began turning the pages until the word florist appeared at the top. He ran his finger down a list of at least fifteen in the surrounding area. “We need to find this florist tonight. Another life probably depends on it.” Forty-five minutes and twenty phone calls later, they were no closer than they were when KC first burst into Mac’s office. KC slammed down the receiver for the last time after leaving an urgent message. “That’s at least the tenth answering machine I’ve received.” “I know how you feel, KC—but until some of those phone calls are returned, there isn’t a whole helluva a lot we can do.” “Then I’ll stay here all night if I have to.” “KC”—Mack leaned in—“the dispatchers will call the minute they hear anything. We could both use a little R and R. And by the looks of my clock, you’re already ten minutes late for that date of yours.” “Oh, shit.” KC glanced at his watch. “I almost forgot. Kate ought to be spitting nails by now.” “Why don’t you head on out. It’s been a long day—I’m out of here as well. If the dispatchers hear anything they’ll page us.” KC knew Mac was right. Being a Friday evening, it could be hours before some of those messages were returned, if not well into the next day, and time was of the essence. Someone’s life may very well depend on it. * * * KC walked into the dimly lit hotel’s restaurant. Stained glass lights hung from the low ceiling. Dark blue clothes draped the tables and adorned the thickly padded chairs. Scents of roast beef and fried chicken drifted through the room, sending KC’s stomach to growling. Until now, he hadn’t realized he was hungry. 155

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The room seemed filled to capacity of patrons. His eyes scanned the room, looking for Kate’s short blond bob. Just as the hostess approached, carrying a menu, he spotted the back of Shar MacArthur’s riot of curls. He’d recognize her anywhere. Sidney Kurtz sat to her left. Great, just great, he thought. He couldn’t even break up with Kate without having Shar a witness to it. He only hoped Kate sat on the opposite side of the room. The hostess eyed KC’s hat with disapproval. “Just one for this evening, Sir?” KC quickly removed the Stetson, slapped it against his thigh, and raked his fingers through what had to be a mess of his hair. He hadn’t showered since early this morning. By now, he was bound to stink. “Actually, I meeting someone: Kate Kershaw.” The hostess smiled. “Of course, if you’ll follow me.” He stepped behind the larger woman, hoping to camouflage himself as they passed Shar and Sidney’s table. Just his luck—she’d have to take him within close proximity. Then to his consternation, the hostess stopped right in front of the table and to Shar’s right. But before he could mutter an excuse or tell her there must surely be some sort of mistake, his eyes caught hold of Kate, seated to the back of the very same table. Just his luck. * * * “What the hell? Do I know you? By God it’s kinda late to be calling, don’t you think?” The visitor pushed his way into the small home, not waiting to be invited in. Stopping just inside the door, quietly closing it behind him, his leather-gloved hands rested on a wooden cane topped with a large steel sculpture of a gargoyle. He wore a long black coat, trousers, and Stetson pulled low over his brow, hiding most of his features. “Deputy Burton”—he nodded—“it’s been a long time.” 156

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Lee’s insides trembled. He had not recognized the visitor at first glance, and probably would not have, had he not called him by his formal title. The knowledge that this man knew something of his past had him examining the visitor’s features much closer. What he saw nearly threw him into shock. It was a man he had not seen in years—a man who knew far too many of his long-buried secrets—ones he had prayed would never resurface. But unfortunately for him, evil reared its ugly head. “After all these years, why come back?” Lee asked. The man winked. “Revenge.” One word, pure and simple. But it carried the weight of years of guilt. The time to pay his penance had come. Just the way George and Reese did, and more than likely Kip. Word of Kip’s disappearance had hit the streets—Lee doubted they’d find him alive—and in the back of his mind, he knew each of the crimes were related. He had moved out of Whitley City years ago, not seeing any of those involved in the age-old crime since, hoping, that by distancing himself, it would allow him to forget. He had been wrong. A day hadn’t gone by that he had not thought about it. Even after twenty years. He knew he could scream, but this far from another house no one would likely hear. His wife having moved out long ago, left him alone in his misery. He couldn’t blame her. After that fateful night, he hadn’t been much of a husband. But now, there would be no escape, not this time. Lee wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Though his gut instinct was for survival, the weight of the self-blame he carried like a litany told him this man had come to exact the punishment he deserved. Nothing less. Even if he wound up in hell for his crimes, at least in death the torment of his memories would finally be over. “I will not cower.” “I don’t expect you to. Although I will say you have balls. Even in 157

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his disoriented state, George pleaded so much, the poor guy pissed himself. I left him wet in his humiliation when I strapped him to the cross. By then, the Rohypnol had peaked and he was slowly coming back around, but it was too late for him. Those binds were pretty tight. He wasn’t going anywhere.” “Why cover for us all these years, then wait so long to come back? Why not kill us when you had the chance?” “Where would the challenge in that have been? It was more fun to allow you to wallow in your pitiful lives nearly destroying yourselves, thinking you had gotten away with murder. First Kip—” “If you’ve killed Kip already, why haven’t I heard? What have you done with him?” “I didn’t kill Kip. I just made sure he wouldn’t be going anywhere. But he is missing. They’ll eventually find him, though by now, I doubt he’s of the living. Then there was George—” “That’s what I don’t get, why George? He wasn’t even there.” “Ah, but he was guilty, nonetheless. Accused of adultery, the proof lies in Shar.” Lee’s eyes widened. George Stanton fathered Mac’s daughter? After all these years, the truth had been concealed. Even those close to the family had no clue. He glanced at the gargoyle perched on the end of the wooden cane, knew it would be used to crush his skull. Tears welled in his eyes; his bravado slipped. Fear had a way of reducing a man to cowardliness. He wanted to beg, to plead, but knew it would do little good. And as he watched the man hike the cane over his left shoulder as one might a ball bat, his piss ran warm down his leg, while light from the lamp glinted off the steel structure, heading for his head. * * * Kate looked up, a sheepish grin on her face. “I hope you don’t mind, darling. Since you were running behind, I invited Shar and Sidney to keep me company.” 158

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KC suppressed a groan. So this was his fault. “Not at all,” he said, pulled out a chair, and took a seat as the hostess handed him a menu. “Would you like a bit more time, or are you ready to order? I can get your waiter.” “Not yet,” KC said, and she walked away. “Champagne?” Sidney asked, holding up a forth fluted glass that had been added to the table earlier with KC in mind. “What’s the celebration?” Shar reddened as she looked to her plate. Sidney had no qualms or embarrassments on the subject. “It’s our first week of being together.” “I hate to see what you do for a year,” KC grumbled beneath his breath, earning him a chuckle from Shar who had obviously heard. “What was that?” the slimeball counselor asked. KC could barely stomach sitting across from him. What would happen when the food arrived? “I was just saying may the two of you be together in a year.” He grasped the now-filled glass from Sidney’s hand and downed it in one gulp. “Let’s eat—I’m starving.” The waiter arrived, saving them from more inane conversation, then quickly walked away to fill the orders. “Going back to Williamsburg tonight, Kate?” Shar asked, a sugarsweet smile plastered on her face. KC could feel the building animosity between the two women. It was as if Sidney wasn’t sitting at the table and the two women were having a showdown, over KC, no less. “I hadn’t planned on going back tonight.” She looked at KC for confirmation. Great, just what he needed. He wanted to politely walk away from Kate, not sleep with her. “It wouldn’t be a wise idea, Kate. I’m in the middle of this investigation and I need my concentration on the job.” 159

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He took a sip from the glass Sidney had already refilled when Kate said, “That never got in the way of sex before.” KC choked on the half-swallowed champagne and began coughing. “I’m sorry, KC—was that a bit too blunt? Getting none, as of late, has a tendency to bring out my bad side.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “A bit uncharacteristic of you, is more like it.” Shar plopped a stuffed mushroom in her mouth, seemingly enjoying KC’s discomfort. He felt ill at ease being in the company of both women. Kate shrugged. “Well if that’s what it takes to get your attention these days.” She looked at Shar. “How about you? Sidney giving it—” “That’s enough, Kate.” Heat rose to KC’s cheeks and ears. Hell, he was embarrassed for Shar. What the hell was wrong with Kate tonight? “I don’t think their sex life is any of our business.” She glowered at KC. “I meant ‘it,’ as in the relationship, KC. Get your mind out of the gutter. I was wondering if he was giving it his full attention, or like you—always has his mind on the job.” If his face wasn’t red before, it certainly was now. KC couldn’t wait for the night to be over. He leaned back, spread out his knees a bit more and came into contact with Shar’s. The heat of her simple touch traveled right through his jeans and up his thighs like an arrow intended for his crotch. Instead of moving his knee, he glanced at her, wishing he hadn’t. Shar plopped another succulent mushroom in her mouth and was doing a dandy job of licking the juices from her fingers. His groin tightened. Hell, he needed air, and lots of it. “You certainly seem grouchy tonight, KC.” Kate said, earning him her attention. “Bad day at the office?” “You could say that,” he grumbled. “Babs Anderson caught me coming out of the office and off guard.” “The TV reporter?” she piped up, her face now glowing. “You met 160

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the Babs Anderson.” “One and the same, but I wouldn’t be all too excited about it. She’s nothing but a pain in the rear when you’re working a case. Always shoving that microphone in your face.” “What’s she look like in person?” Kate continued, oblivious to KC’s turmoil. Neither Shar nor KC moved their knees. Truth be told, he kind of liked the feeling of it resting there. “Same as she does on TV, but taller. You’ve seen her before, haven’t you, Sidney?” “Sure, in court a time or two. I guess we’re in agreement. I think she’s a royal pain.” Their food arrived and Shar readjusted the napkin on her lap, allowing her right hand to rest beneath the table. KC cut a piece of steak and shoved it into his mouth, just in time to suppress the groan that would have surely left his lips as Shar ran her fingers up his leg and allowed her hand to rest high on his thigh. Dear God, he was going to die from sheer bliss. Much higher and she’d see his reaction to her simple touch. There was no two ways about it—if he didn’t get Shar beneath the sheets, he’d die from the longing. Why the hell did she have to be born about ten years too late, not to mention have someone other than his best friend as her father? “KC? Are you even listening to me?” Kate whined in her most annoying voice. Obviously tonight was not going to be the best time to break things off. But it would happen—he’d make sure of it. If nothing else than for the suffering guilt he felt at this moment as Shar’s warm hand covered his thigh and a knowing smile rested on her lips. “I’m listening, Kate.” He sent a brief glare in Shar’s direction. “What is it you wanted?” She patted her lips with a napkin, leaving red prints on the white cloth. “I asked you if we were going back to your place tonight?” 161

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The hand on his thigh inched up slowly and squeezed ever so slightly. KC paid hell keeping his mind on topic. “Um…no, Kate. I don’t think it’s wise.” One glance at Shar told him he had made the right choice. She smiled sweetly and removed her hand. Damn if he didn’t already miss the heat from her touch. KC knew he needed an excuse and fast or he’d have Kate and Shar both coming to his cabin in the woods later. What a scene that conjured up. They’d likely scratch each other’s eyes out. Poor Sidney—he’d be going home alone. Not that KC actually felt sorry for the man. “I have a case I need to work on. A possible break. It’s the reason I was late.” He paused, looking at Shar’s unreadable expression. “As soon as I finish here I’m heading back for the station. I will likely be there all night.” Kate threw her napkin on the table. “You mean I came all the way here for nothing?” “Looks that way, Kate. I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to call you.” Sidney smiled. “You could always get a room here, Kate.” KC could have strangled the annoying little prick. “What a wonderful suggestion, Sidney. I knew there was a reason I liked you.” KC let out a humph. Sidney winked at her. “I just figured maybe that way you could look up KC tomorrow and the trip won’t have been for nothing.” “That’s a wonderful suggestion.” She turned to KC. “Can we picnic tomorrow?” “Wonderful idea, Kate,” KC grumbled around a mouthful. Just wonderful. He’d certainly like to pay back the little prick for that one. But then again, he had just given KC another opportunity to break it off with Kate on the morrow. “Well, I have to run. Sorry about ruining your plans, Kate,” he said, 162

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leaning down and pressing a sisterly-like peck on her cheek. He turned to the other couple. “Sidney, Shar—don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” Sidney laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The last sight he saw before leaving the table was Shar’s pink tongue tracing her lower lip. He knew exactly what he’d like her to be doing with that tongue. Somewhere along the line he had gone pathetic.

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CHAPTER 16

All but two of the phone calls from the night before had been returned. Sharon Day of Sharon’s Boutique and Florist, and Tina Schwartz of Sunshine Flowers, both in Whitley City. Neither had responded to the message KC had left on their answering services. So far, they had no new leads and no Black Magic roses had been ordered, some even reporting they didn’t carry the flower, a fairly new breed. KC hoped that meant the killer had taken the week off. Contemplating the case and looking for any possible new angles, he hadn’t heard Kate until she rounded the corner and entered his office, complete with wicker picnic basket in hand. “Ready?” she asked, smiling broadly. KC glanced at the wall clock. Time had flown by, and he hadn’t realized the lunch hour had arrived. His stomach growled. “I guess so.” He laughed easily. “What did you pack that has set my stomach to grumbling?” “I had the hotel loan me this nice basket and pack it for me since I 164

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spent the night in one of their rooms. There’s roast beef and Swiss on rye sandwiches, Rice Pilaf, and glazed carrots. And I do believe there’s a bottle of chilled white sparkling cider in there as well. Not to mention two of their scrumptious cheesecakes for dessert. Sound good?” “Delicious! I’m starved. Why don’t you head over to Seller’s Ridge Route—not exactly a great picnic spot, but we don’t have time to go all the way to Yahoo Falls. I have to get back and continue with this case. I’ll meet you over there in a few.” “Can’t we ride together?” Her tone seemed a nasally whine. He wondered how many times she had used the exact tone to get her way, and why it had taken so long to get beneath his skin. They could drive over in the same vehicle, but after what he had to tell her, he’d doubt she’d want to ride back with him. “I’d prefer we take our own transportation, Kate. That way if my beeper goes off I can head out. I’m still waiting on a few calls.” Kate sighed, rolling her eyes heavenward. “It’s always about work with you, isn’t it, KC?” “Always will be, honey. Now go on and get that picnic set up.” Kate leaned down and bussed his cheek. “Don’t keep me waiting.” “Right behind you.” KC stood as soon as she walked from the room and grasped his keys to the SUV. On the way out the door, he stopped by Fran’s desk. “Tell Mac, if he needs me, to page me. I’m going to Seller’s Ridge Route—not too far. I need a little sunshine and air.” “Enjoy yourself, KC.” Fran smiled. “Sunshine does anyone good. Maybe it will lift them spirits of yours a bit. These cases have both you and Mac moody as all get out. And hard as hell to be around!” He winked. “Don’t know how much it will help the temperament, but I’ll give it a shot.” Moments later, he pulled around the bend in the small road and next to Kate’s little red sports car. It seemed tiny in comparison to his Blazer. Throwing the gearshift into park, he jumped from the cab and 165

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walked to the grassy area Kate had picked to spread the blanket on the ground. She had already set out service wear for two and was just adding a sandwich to each plate as KC reclined on one elbow in front of her. Kate sat Indian style. The sandwiches overflowed with roast beef and Swiss, causing KC’s mouth to salivate. He grasped his sandwich, not allowing Kate to finish adding the rest of the food, and took a healthy bite. “Delicious,” he said, than took a swig of the sparkling juice Kate handed him in a plastic cup. “Thanks for thinking of this. Didn’t realize I was so damn hungry.” KC took another bite of his sandwich as Kate played with hers. He knew something plagued her. Although he wasn’t ready to spoil the mood of such a pleasant day, he asked between bites, “Care to talk about it?” She took a deep breath as though summoning courage. “We seem to be growing apart, KC—not together as a relationship should progress. After six years, most couples are planning weddings.” Kate glanced at her bare fingers. “I don’t even have a ring.” “I know, honey. And believe me, I’ve thought long and hard about it. You deserve a ring, the wedding, kids—the whole nine yards.” A gentle smile turned up the corners of her lips, telling KC Kate had misunderstood his words. She threw her arms around his neck and knocked him onto his back, narrowly missing his food. She kissed his cheeks, his eyes, his mouth, not giving him a chance to explain. Finally, coming up for air, KC grasped her beneath the arms and rolled her off him so he could better maneuver. “Kate, we need to talk.” KC propped himself on one elbow as Kate flipped on her back and stared dreamy-eyed at him. Damn, this was going to be harder than he thought. “Look, hon—it’s not—” “Shut up and, for once in your life, don’t ruin this moment, Kevin Charles,” she said and grasped him behind the neck, bringing his mouth 166

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down to hers. * * * Thankfully Shar had finagled KC’s whereabouts from Fran. If there ever was a time she needed KC in her life, it was now. She needed him as a big brother, a friend, a confidant, and a protector. The night she spotted KC kissing Tina Sue she had needed him. Now, she needed him again. She hadn’t even realized all the significant parts KC played in her existence. Her life had taken more turns than a roller coaster, and right now she needed him to confide in. If nothing else, to have him wrap her in his protective arms and hold her. Shar glanced in the rearview mirror at the large bruise marring her cheek and eye. She had dated Sidney for only a mere week, but long enough to be shocked by his sudden outburst of temper the night before. After leaving the restaurant, he had taken her back to his place. Shar hadn’t objected to sharing a bottle of wine with him, not even if it meant being alone with him. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time they had been at his house unchaperoned. They were adults. Once he had her alone, he had started his planned seduction. He tried everything, right down to picking her up, against her will, and depositing her in the center of his four-poster bed, complete with red satin sheets, no doubt bought for the occasion. Shar fought like a hellcat: kicked at whatever her feet could contact, screamed for him to get off of her, clawed at his face. But in the end she had done little damage, as Sidney out-weighed her by several pounds. Finally tired of her “games,” he had called them, he backhanded her, setting her cheek afire, calling her a tease, and telling her to get the hell out of his home. Afterward, as though he had snapped out of some sort of rage—a real Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde—he apologized profusely. Shar graciously accepted, if for nothing else than to get him to drive her home, then promptly got out of his car and told him to never call again. Not listening to her parting words, Sidney had called her several 167

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times, his name showing up on her caller ID. She refused to answer and even went so far as begging off of work. Normally, she had Saturdays off. But as the work on her desk piled up, she had to put in overtime if she ever hoped to catch up. One look at her face told her she had more free time coming. Staying home seemed much easier than having to answer the questions sure to pop up. When Shar called into the sheriff’s office looking for KC, Fran freely gave her KC’s location. Maybe it was the frantic tone in Shar’s voice, but Mac’s secretary hadn’t hesitated. Shar pulled alongside KC’s SUV, wondering why he would come here by himself. She hadn’t seen the red sports car upon entering the lot, not until she walked around the Blazer that shielded it from view. But Kate’s car wasn’t what stopped her, it was seeing KC nearly on top of the woman. How much more could she take? She stifled a sob with the back of her hand, and took off running for the wooded trail. * * * KC heard the tortured cry. He broke free from Kate’s grasp and saw Shar running for the winding path in the forest, her trench coat whipping in the breeze behind her. “Shit.” He scrambled to his feet and started after her, mumbling, “Not again.” “Kevin Charles Tanner,” Kate yelled, stopping him in his tracks. He turned on his heel. “You go after her and we are through. Over, I tell you—past history.” KC shook his head. “Dammit, Kate—that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you the last five minutes. It’s been over.” KC could see the tears in Kate’s eyes, making him feel the cad. And although he felt the need to soothe her, tell her she was better off without him, he didn’t have the precious time—not if he hoped to catch up with Shar. “That’s how you feel?” Her voice trembled. 168

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He paused, then said in finality, “That’s how I feel.” KC headed up the path, hoping to stop Shar before she ran too deep into the woods. Behind, he heard the shattering of plates and the heavy thud of the picnic basket being flung, then the soft roar of her car as it sped off. Not exactly the way he had hoped it to go. He had wanted to break it off all right, but in a much gentler way, maybe even parting as friends. Now, Kate would likely hate him, and he certainly couldn’t blame her. “Sharalee,” KC called, stopping long enough to peer through the trees and thickets. “Dammit, sweetheart, don’t do this!” He ran up the slight incline, his gaze searching every shadow and darkened cove. “Shar,” KC yelled again, halting his progress, attempting to hear above the beating of his heart as his blood roared through his ears. His breathing grew labored; birds flew out of his path and woodland creatures scurried for shelter beneath the forest covering. “Please, Shar, come out. Let’s talk about this.” A twig snapped. His head turned toward the sound. He caught sight of Shar’s black trench coat as she ducked behind a thick pine. KC ran through the woods, jumping over downed limbs and dense weeds. Just as he nearly grasped a handful of material, she ran in another direction. KC sped after her, finally fisting her coat and halting her progress, pulling her flush against his chest. He could feel her body tremble with each large gulp of air. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his cheek nestling against her riot of curls. Breathing deeply, her sweet musk scent encompassed him and took hold of his gut. He hadn’t even realized how much this woman had become a part of him. His next breath seemed to depend on hers. Aside from Shar’s time in college, a day hadn’t gone by in the last fifteen years that hadn’t been brightened by her smile and presence. 169

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Even as a little girl of nine, she had charmed him beyond measure with her girlish pranks. He had protected her like a brother, cared for her like a father. But today, he felt anything but fraternal. His erection lay trapped between them, begging for appeasement. And damn if he didn’t want to appease it. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of passion. Damn him to hell for feeling anything for this woman other than of a brotherly nature. He felt lower on the scale of life than the snake slithering on the forest ground, no doubt somewhere in the vicinity. Shar turned slowly in his arms, the purplish bruise on her cheek nearly stunned him to silence. Carefully, he traced the darkened wound with his index finger. “What the hell happened?” he whispered. Shar’s cool hand covered his warm one, trapping it against her cheek. “I’ll be fine,” she said, though the tears free-falling down her cheeks and wetting his hand told another story. “Who?” he asked. Anger welled and bubbled inside like a raging volcano, waiting to erupt. He needn’t have her answer—he knew the culprit. She let go of his hand and tore her gaze from his, looking to the ground. “It’s not important.” “The hell it isn’t, Shar.” His jaw ached from the tension of his clasped teeth. “Sidney!” More tears slipped from her lashes. She fell into his arms and he closed them around her, his hands smoothing the material of her coat. Sobs racked her body. “I’ll kill him, sweetheart, if he ever touches you again.” “Please, KC—it’s over.” His shirt muffled her plea. “I should have been there for you.” His chest ached from the implication of his words. Since she had been nine, KC had been her protector. And when she had really needed him, he hadn’t been there. “That’s what big brothers are for.” 170

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“You’re not my brother, KC.” Shar leaned back, her teary gaze locking with his. She wiped away the wetness with her palms. Her lips curved gently upward. “I think what’s resting against my abdomen is an indication that you don’t think so either.” Heat traveled his neck, surely reddening his ears and cheeks. Christ, he hated himself for not being able to control himself any better than that of a bumbling schoolboy. She placed a soft hand on his cheek, obviously noting his embarrassment. “It’s okay, KC. It’s more than okay. I have wanted you for as long as I can remember. You were always my prince on the white stallion.” “The feelings I’m having for you now, Shar—have little to do with honor.” “It’s not your honor I want, KC.” “You don’t know what you’re asking from me, sweetheart. You have no idea.” She sidled closer, rubbing her lower abdomen against his erection. “I think I do, KC. If you haven’t noticed, I’m no longer a little girl.” KC swallowed the lump in his throat, then quickly released her and stepped back, rubbing a hand over his whiskered jaw. “Don’t, Shar. We can’t.” He laughed nervously. But damn if she wasn’t right. He wanted her with the force of a hurricane. His desire would likely sweep in, catch them both in the whirlwind, leaving nothing but the destruction of both lives when it was all over and done. She took a step in his direction. Her tears had dried up, desire taking over her darkened gaze. Shar held out a hand. “It’s all right, KC. It’s fate.” KC shook his head, ignoring her outstretched hand. “I don’t agree, sweetheart. There is no such thing as fate. We make our own lives…and this I can’t allow to happen. It isn’t right.” She grasped a hold of his hand anyway, pulling it to her face, rubbing his callused fingers down her downy soft cheek. The contrast 171

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sent tremors dancing up and down his spine like heat lightning on a sizzling summer night. He groaned. He was going to hell before the day was out. She drew his index finger into her mouth and suckled it. His groin throbbed at the feel of her velvety tongue as it wrapped around his flesh, sending hot arrows of desire and incredible heat to his gut. “Shar, please, sweetheart—you’re killing me.” Although, truthfully, he didn’t want her to stop, he had to make a half-assed effort. But should she stop, he swore he’d likely shatter into a thousand pieces. Shar released his finger, and for one heart-aching moment, he thought her ready to comply to his earlier plea. Instead of doing as he feared, staring him straight in the eye, she drew his hand to her breast and laid it flat against her. He could feel her nipple pebble beneath his palm. “I hope so, KC, because I surely don’t want you running away from me. Not this time.” KC took his free hand and snaked it around her back, pulling her flush against him, anchoring her against his erection. His hand kneaded her soft breast as he whispered into her ear, “Do you know what you are asking of me, sweetheart?” She slowly nodded, arching her pelvis into him. “Dear, God,” he groaned, thinking he found Heaven. “Are you sure, sweetheart?” Again, she simply nodded. Releasing her, he grasped both sides of her face, wanting her understanding, not a mind clouded with ardency. “Shar, you’re asking me to make love to you. The same thing Sidney—” Her gaze snapped in sudden anger. “Don’t, KC. Don’t dirty this. I’ve wanted this for far too long for you to cheapen it.” “And I want you to understand—that I’m a man. I have needs and desires, just like anyone. You can’t toy with that and not get burnt.” “I don’t have desires?” Her tone raised. “I know what I’m asking for, KC. I’m not a child—stop treating me like one.” She took a step 172

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toward him, grasped his hand. “The question is, are you taking what I’m offering?” He hesitated, his eyes searching hers. Dear Lord forgive him as he just lost the battle with the sins of his flesh. He didn’t have the will to turn her down, not this time. “I’d be a fool not to.” He brought his lips down to hers, his tongue easily parting her mouth. The silky recesses drove him beyond sane thought as he pulled down the neckline of her sweater, and the lace of her bra. Her one breast exposed, KC covered the pert tip with his palm. The feel of flesh against flesh sent blood thumping in his erection. Much more and he’d have her on her back, rutting between her legs like the wild animals of the forest. He tore his mouth from hers, panting like he had run the marathon. His hand stilled. “What the hell am I thinking?” he grumbled. “What kind of animal would I be to take you here?” Shar disengaged herself from his hold, took off her trench coat and laid it upon the ground. “I’m not about to give you a second to change your mind, KC Tanner.” Hell may be knocking at his door, but right now he couldn’t resist the temptation. The devil must surely be laughing in glee at his weakness. He followed her down to the coat and into her waiting arms, his hips cradled within her legs. Just the feel of his erection lying between her spread thighs, drove him beyond rational thought and control. It seemed he had waited a lifetime for this moment, “fate,” as she had called it. His mouth sought her exposed breast, drew the pert tip between his lips and suckled like a starving babe. Shar’s moans filled the damp air as she arched her hips into him, pleading him to bury himself deeply within her. “Dammit, Shar.” He rested his face between her breasts, panting. 173

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“We can’t do this.” Shar lifted his face between her palms, plying kisses on his cheeks, his lips, daring him to turn her down, daring him to walk away and nurse his blue balls come morning. “Shar, sweetheart—you don’t understand.” He braced himself with his hands on either side of her head. His penis throbbed incessantly, nearly stealing any breath left in him. “I don’t have any protection.” Shar brought his lips back to hers. Her tongue mating with his as his body longed to, building a hunger within him—one daring him to deny. No longer caring about the effects of their lovemaking, he undid the snap of his pants. Shar moved his hands and carefully slid the zipper over his erection as KC grasped her skirt and bunched it about her waist. Her delicate lacy panties were wet at the juncture—wet for him. As her hand slipped around him, encompassing him, he groaned and ripped the flimsy material separating her from him, tossing aside the shreds. Moving her hands, he positioned himself over her and slid home. Her small gasp and wide-eyed look of pain spoke his worst fear—Shar had never lost her virginity. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as he held himself motionless. KC clenched his jaw, not daring to move, not wanting to cause her further pain. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Shit, I would have taken my time. Not jump on you like some animal.” Shar entwined her fingers in his hair. “You wouldn’t have taken your time, KC—you wouldn’t have taken me at all.” She was right. Had KC known she was a virgin, he would have ran to the other side of the county. He didn’t know what the hell to do with a virgin. Never in his life had he ever had one. He preferred his women broken in, knowing how to love a man. “I wanted you to be my first, KC. I’ve waited a long time.” “All through college? You never slept with a man? Un-fuckingbelievable. Dammit, Shar, why the hell didn’t you tell me?” “I waited for you, KC. I never wanted anyone else.” 174

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As Shar placed small, tender kisses on his chest, KC couldn’t help but begin to move, slowly, tentatively, until both their actions drove him beyond reason. Shar matched his thrusts. His world detonated into tiny shards and bright blinding lights as he shuddered his release. She grasped his exposed buttocks as he stilled, pulling him further against her and tilted back her head. Her moan of, “Oh God,” drifted across the light, cool breeze, as her own release tightened her walls around him like a snug fist. KC collapsed atop her, Shar’s legs still wrapped about his waist. He traced her bruised cheek with his finger. “Does it hurt?” “Not any more.” He placed a tender kiss on the purpled area. “I’ll make him pay for this, Shar.” “Let it go, KC.” He grinned. “I can’t—it’s a man thing.” Shar shifted beneath him, rolling him to her side. “Are you all right?” “There’s a stick beneath my butt.” KC chuckled as he pulled his pants up around his waist, fastening them. Shar giggled, as she, too, tried to make semblance of her state of dress and pulled her skirt down over her thighs and her sweater back over her breasts. “God, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” “For what?” “What a way to remember your first time. I’m no better than the wild creatures of this forest.” Sitting back on her knees, her face sobered. “Don’t diminish what just happened, KC. I’ll never forget it. It was more special to me than you know.” KC glanced at the ground, unable to look her in the eye. After picking up a stick, he drew in the dirt with it. “You should have had 175

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champagne and roses—a big fluffy bed.” Shar leaned over and kissed him, one so deep it had him wishing to throw her on the ground for round two. She lay back down, pulling him with her, and enveloped him in her embrace. Finally, she released him. “I’ll never regret one moment of it, KC—don’t think I will.” Hell, he wasn’t about to tell her he already did. Instead, he laid his head on her chest. Her hand smoothed his mussed hair as the tranquility of the forest surrounded them. A scream rent from her throat. KC lifted his head, ready to tackle the snake or other woodland creature that had her squealing in fright. His gaze followed hers. About twenty feet beyond, a human skull stared sightlessly at them, a witness to their deed, its mouth agape and tufts of hair sticking up on end. Flies buzzed the rotting head as maggots crawled in and around of its eye sockets. Beetles feasted on the died flesh. By the looks of it, the skull had to have been there a few weeks. “Mother of God,” KC whispered.

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CHAPTER 17

The sheriff’s truck drove around the bend and up the gravel path. He had missed his daughter’s departure by about five minutes. KC had a devil of a time convincing Shar that she shouldn’t be anywhere near the site when her father arrived. He meant to keep her name out of it. Besides, the last thing he needed was to have to answer Mac’s endless questions as to what KC and Shar were doing wandering around in the woods mid-workday when they had stumbled across the head, or what there was left of it. To say Mac wouldn’t be pleased would be putting it mildly. He’d likely jump to his own conclusions that might not be far from the truth. How the hell would KC ever be able to conceal from Mac what he had done? When Mac found out KC took his little girl’s virginity, a shotgun wedding would be the least of his worries. KC already regretted the turn of events. But easily forget it, he wouldn’t. Shar had left her imprint. Even though she had rocked him to the core, he couldn’t allow it to happen again. Today had been nothing 177

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but a mistake. One huge mistake. He hated the idea of sending her home alone, knew that the day’s events had shaken her. But there was no help for it. Besides, KC promised to call later, which seemed to placate her enough that she left the scene and headed for home. The wheels of the sheriff’s vehicle rolled to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the heavy tires, directly above the remaining shards of glass from Kate’s tirade. KC and Shar attempted to pick up the mess Kate had left and stuffed it into the damaged picnic basket, placing it into KC’s Blazer. Later, he’d have to return it to the hotel and make reparations. “What the hell do we have?” Mac asked around a wad of tobacco, spitting a brown stream at his booted feet. He tucked the pouch into his shirt pocket. Grasping the sides of his waistband, he hiked up his pants. “I contacted the coroner, he’s on his way. You want to fill me in?” KC started in the direction of the traveled path. Mac fell in beside him. “I found a head in the woods.” “A head? Nothing more.” “Not exactly. I believe the rest of the body is there, but beneath the ground. The only thing visible is the head.” “You mind me asking, KC, how in tarnation you stumbled across this? Someone give you a tip? Call in?” “Afraid not—I found this one on my own. We have no witnesses.” Mac scratched his heavily whiskered jaw, looking as if he hadn’t shaved in days. And by the looks of the dark circles beneath his eyes, KC bet he hadn’t had much sleep either. Just what the hell was going on with Mike MacArthur? Mac normally appeared fit and very trim— neat to a fault. Never a hair out of place, clothes wrinkle free. Now it seemed as though he cared little about appearance or himself. KC couldn’t help wondering if it had anything to do with the cases, as he thought of their connection to Alison. 178

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“Mind my asking what the hell you were doing out here wandering in the woods?” KC shrugged, hoping the warmth spreading up his neck wasn’t as visible as it felt. “Kate and I went for a picnic.” He grinned at Mac. “Breaking up with her hadn’t gone as well as I had hoped.” Mac chuckled. “Really? Bet that was some scene. Kate can be a real spitfire at times, although you probably deserved everything she gave.” “That and more.” KC hung his head. In truth, he had been a putz. “After she left, I took a walk to sort things out—think things through. That’s when I stumbled across the head. Damned eerie.” “Any ideas as to the identity?” “Not a clue. I’m not even sure there is enough left of the head to get a good identification.” Sirens neared, growing in volume, as the deputies Mac had obviously called to help process the scene made their way to the Seller’s Ridge Route. KC ducked beneath a few low-hanging branches and made a careful trek back to the scene, trying not to disturb any possible evidence. Stopping just before the skull, KC knelt and carefully dug beneath the surface of the lose dirt until he contacted material a couple of inches down. “I think it’s all here, Mac. I believe the entire body was buried.” Mac took off his hat, ran fingers through his unkempt hair, then replaced it, perching his fists on his hips. He whistled low. “Wonder if he was dead before he was buried?” “Don’t know.” KC stood and dusted the dirt from his fingers on his trouser legs. “It doesn’t seem that he would be buried with just his head above ground if he was already dead. What purpose would that serve?” “Damned if I know. But we ain’t getting anything accomplished standing here talking about it. Let’s get the kits.” “Umm…Mac.” KC stopped him from heading out of the dense coverage. “Who’s going to dig up the body?” “You are,” he said, then headed on his way, not giving KC time to 179

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argue. “Like hell,” KC grumbled as he stared at what remained. The skin, for the most part, had deteriorated from the head, or had been eaten by beetles and maggots—not to mention some of the bigger creatures of the forest. Black holes remained where the victim’s eyes once were, the jawbone hung slack. KC shivered. He thought the corpse appeared as though it had been literally frightened to his death—the look forever frozen in his expression. Small tuffs of black hair sprouted from the top of the head. KC noted the similarity with Kip Lawrence having black hair. Could be they were handed a break and just stumbled across the decomposed body of the missing man. If so, it seemed safe to say the corpse had been out here nearly three weeks, the reason not much was left of the head. It had become vegetation. As if on cue, a tiny black snake poked his head from the eye of the skull, causing KC to jump, then wound its way to the ground and slithered beneath the leaves and brush. Shivers danced up and down his spine. When he made the decision to become a detective some years back, KC certainly hadn’t planned for crimes of this magnitude: a crucifixion, a body drawn and quartered. Now he stood before a man that had possibly been buried alive, leaving only his head exposed. McCreary County had always been a quiet little town, the reason KC never desired to leave. So why on earth had the devil decided to pay a visit to his community? KC stepped back and perused the area, giving it a careful once-over. A brown piece of paper poked out from beneath the covering of leaves and brush, catching his attention. After walking tentatively to the area, mindful of his steps, KC knelt and carefully brushed the foliage aside. A weathered picture of an Indian stared at him from a worn pouch. His focus took in the lone object as everything else seemed to fade 180

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away. A soft roaring began in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. A tobacco pouch—more specifically, a Red Man tobacco pouch. KC took a pair of latex gloves and a plastic bag from his breast pocket. Snapping the gloves in place, he carefully picked up the pouch and placed it within the Ziploc. The significance of his discovery sent him jumping when the snapping of twigs sounded from behind, alerting him to Mac’s return. He quickly shoved the evidence bag in his pocket, concealing it from view. “Find anything, KC?” Mac asked as he carefully sat the box containing the items they needed a safe perimeter away. “Nope,” KC lied, wondering how Mac would react if he knew KC had found a pouch of chewing tobacco, the exact brand Mac used, near the rotting corpse. This case had just gotten muddier. Had KC known Mac all of these years and somehow missed the true man beneath the surface? He began to wonder what other secrets Mac had successfully kept from him. Ice trickled into his veins. KC tried to convince himself that Mac couldn’t possibly be the guilty party. What the hell kind of motive could he possibly have? Whatever the answers, they would have to wait, as Deputies Crawford and Miller began roping off a large section of the territory with yellow crime-scene tape as directed by the sheriff. Finished, Miller snapped pictures of every possible area, and every position of the head, noting the surrounding vegetation as well as the bugs inhabiting the skull. The coroner arrived shortly thereafter, recording the outside climate and temperature. Taking the temperature of the corpse at this point would be impossible, as the rib area of the victim remained beneath the ground. The best way to determine the time of death would no doubt be a witness who last saw the man alive. Doc Johnson took pictures of his own, made notes concerning the vegetation, forest covering, and the 181

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bugs that surrounded the exposed part of the body. Mac, KC, and the deputies worked diligently, even after the coroner left, telling them his job would be completed when the body was transported to the morgue. A medical examiner and forensic scientist would later help assist in the autopsy. Finished combing the scene for what little evidence they found, KC returned to the head. Mac held out a shovel and a couple of small spades. KC’s brows rose. “No way, Mac.” He shoved away the tools. “The honor is all yours.” Mac laughed. “I don’t think so, KC—this is your area of expertise. You’re the detective.” “Yeah, I gather evidence, not dig up bodies.” “This body is part of the evidence. Why the hell do you think Doc left so quickly? He’s no fool.” KC chuckled. “Pretty smart, actually. If he’s not here, we can’t talk him into digging up the corpse. Get Crawford and Miller to do it.” Mac dropped the tools near KC’s boots. “I don’t trust them. You dig it up. I believe this falls under your job description.” KC couldn’t believe Mac insisted on him digging up the victim. “Isn’t there someone else in this county that can do it, like a grave digger?” “Yeah, KC, but we need to worry about destroying evidence. Looks like you’re the right man.” Mac walked away, leaving KC no room to argue. KC glanced at Crawford and Miller, who stood near the yellow tape that cordoned off the area, smiles wide on their faces as though Mac and KC’s exchange had humored them. “What the hell you two laughing at? Looks like you get to help.” “Oh no, you don’t, Tanner,” Miller stated, holding his hands in front of him. “I clearly heard Mac say it’s your job.” “He delegated the responsibility to me. Now I’m delegating it to 182

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you.” Grumbling, both men came forward and picked up a spade. KC placed the shovel’s sharp blade into the soil and shoved with his boot. At least the fertile soil would make it an easy dig. Hours later, and after a six-foot hole in the earth had been formed, the corpse had been placed in a black body bag and taken to the morgue by the coroner’s assistants. KC wiped the dirt and sweat from his brow as he continued to stare into the grave. The stench from the corpse clung to his clothes, his nostrils, his hair. The digging had been painstakingly slow as they were careful not to disturb any evidence that might have remained on the body. The victim’s clothes would be collected at the morgue and sent to the lab for analysis. One thing they knew for sure—Kip Lawrence had been the victim. The soil had preserved much of what lay beneath the surface, though deterioration had indeed started. The victim wore a watch on his left arm, his name engraved on the back. Three Friday’s in a row, three sets of red roses delivered. Yesterday would have been the fourth Friday—yet they couldn’t confirm the delivery of any such flowers. Many times when crimes such as these cease, it was because the perp was somehow incapacitated, thrown in jail, or had met some other untimely demise. KC made a mental note to check with the local jails in the area to see about new arrests. Maybe they would get lucky and find this perp already behind bars. * * * Shar sat in her kitchen. The sun had descended, the chill of the evening settling in her bones. Her fingers were icy cold. But she doubted any amount of warmth would encompass her at this point. Not after finding the deteriorated head. Shar ran her hands up and down her biceps. The vision of the wide-eyed skull froze within her brain like a movie still. She knew when she closed her eyes for the night that, instead of pleasant things, the skull would likely give her ghoulish nightmares. 183

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Even after a shower, she had been unsuccessful at ridding herself of the shivers. Her teeth nearly chattered. Her body had begun trembling on the way home and had yet to stop. She wanted desperately to be wrapped within KC’s comforting arms, knowing how protected he made her feel. But he had yet to call. As if on cue, the phone rang, causing her to jump. She raced to the stand and picked up the receiver. “KC?” Shar asked, and when he didn’t answer she followed it with, “Hello?” An empty line greeted her. Sounds could be heard in the background, telling her someone was indeed on the other end, and not just a dead line. The caller ID read OUT OF AREA. The air chilled. Looking at the thermostat on the wall, Shar turned it up five degrees. She ran a hand down her arm again, trying to smooth out the gooseflesh. “Is anyone there? Hello?” The receiver nearly dropped from her hand as her trembling increased and her palms perspired. “KC? Is that you?” More silence. “Whoever this is, it isn’t funny,” she spat, ready to slam the receiver back into the cradle. The hissed words, “You’re just like your mother,” stopped her from hanging up. “What did you say?” she asked, although she had heard the caller clearly enough. The phone went dead. “Hello?—Dammit!” She launched the handset across the room where it crashed against the wall and broke into several black shattered pieces. Shar tightly wrapped her arms about herself and began pacing the floor. Where the hell was KC? Tears welled in her eyes and slipped 184

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down her cheeks. He had promised to call. Typical of every man she had ever met. “I’ll call.” Famous last words. Why should he be so different? Yes, she knew she was being selfish, since KC was undoubtedly up to his neck—no pun intended—in solving this latest crime, but she couldn’t help herself. Shar also thought about the caller’s words. In what way had she been like her mother? Or had it been nothing more than a prank? She had no idea, but it scared the living hell out of her. She sat hard on the sofa, drew her knees to her chest, and stared at the dead-bolted door. By the time on the schoolhouse clock, Mac wouldn’t be home for a good couple of hours, as he had taken to hanging out at General Lee’s more than at home. Shar thought about her father and his sudden fondness for alcohol. It seemed his drinking had taken a turn for the worse and now he stopped taking care of himself. His whiskers had gone neglected, his hair unkempt. Since she didn’t have a clue as to what was bothering him, she had no idea how to help. With KC being so distant toward her, she felt as though she had nowhere to turn. She had hoped this afternoon’s turn of events had changed all that. Maybe she had been wrong. The phone on the wall rang. Shar jumped, staring at the fixture, afraid to move. Her jaw ached from the clenching of her teeth. On the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up. After Shar’s recorded message, KC’s warm baritone came through. “Shar, this is KC…” Since the cordless lay in pieces, Shar raced for the wall phone and jerked it off the cradle. “KC, thank God.” “What’s the matter, sweetheart.” The dam broke and her sobs kept her from saying anything but the repeated word, “Please.” “Where’s Mac?” 185

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“Not here,” she managed on a hiccup. “All right—I’m on my way.” The phone went dead for the second time in her hand. She gently replaced the receiver and sat back on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. Staring out the window, Shar waited for KC’s SUV lights. He would know what to do, even if she didn’t. * * * KC pushed the gas pedal to the floor as he came out of the curve and up the straight path leading toward the MacArthur homestead. Something had happened to Shar and he didn’t like it. His stomach clenched, his heart pounded in his ears. He had heard the sob in her voice. Although he had promised himself to never allow a repeat of the afternoon’s events, his need to protect her kicked in. He would label it his brotherly instinct, as he couldn’t allow himself to think of her in any other way. Mac, no doubt, was nursing a beer at General Lee’s, leaving Shar at home to protect herself. But in all the years they lived in McCreary County, they never had to fear. Their community had always been safe, low in crime. Now, because of some faceless maniac, people who had lived here for years began looking over their shoulders, double-locking their doors. Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders; he couldn’t help but feel somehow at fault. Had he caught the son of a bitch, there would be nothing to cause apprehension. Pulling into the drive, his lights shone on the darkened house. The porch light flipped on as KC cut the engine and leapt from the cab, jogging to the porch. Before he even got to the steps, Shar opened the door and launched herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off his feet. KC tightly wrapped his arms around her, regaining his balance. “Whoa there, sweetheart. Where’s the fire? You all right?” “I am now.” 186

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KC set her back on her feet and looked at her tear-stained face. He wiped away the wetness with the pad of his thumb and tucked her shoulder-length curls behind one ear, tenderly kissing her cheek. “You want to tell me about it?” Shar peered nervously at the surrounding woods, then back at KC. “Can we go inside?” KC followed her to the porch and through the door, glancing back at the unknown phantom. What the hell had her so spooked? Shar MacArthur usually had a backbone of steel, but something had caused her anxiety about the home she had lived in most of her life. Not just the house, but the surrounding woods as well. Daniel Boone Forest had always been there, but now as he peered into the dark recesses, he found himself shivering at what kinds of evil could easily hide within. * * * Tapping the cell phone against his leg, he watched angrily as Sharalee led Detective Tanner into her house. Having taken an interest in the sheriff’s daughter, he had followed her this afternoon as she left the sheriff’s office and headed up to Seller’s Ridge Route. He watched from a safe distance, finding it humorous as the detective’s slut threw the remains of their picnic at Tanner’s retreating back when he chased after Shar. Making a careful arc, not wanting to be seen, he watched from behind the cover of a large pine as Shar allowed the no-good detective to rut between her legs. His anger hit an all-time high. A shit-load of self-control kept him from hauling the detective from between her thighs and slicing his throat clear through the jugglers. Hell, by the time he finished with Kevin Tanner, his head would have dangled from his closed fist. The swine deserved it, nothing less. And one day, he’d make sure the detective paid. It would have been sheer euphoric pleasure to watch the blood splatter from the opened wound and seep into the pine needle flooring, then to leave him there as rotting vegetation for the animals of the 187

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forest. Had it not been for Sharalee’s presence, Detective Tanner would be a dead man. But Tanner’s day had not yet arrived. When it did, he’d leave no witnesses, and until then, his fantasies would have to hold him over. Detective Tanner had crossed the line. Now, clenching his jaw, he slipped back into the foliage and became one with the night.

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CHAPTER 18

KC quietly shut the door, following Shar into the living area of the log home. The low lighting caused the red in her hair to deepen. The curls lay against her shoulders, silky and soft to the touch. He wanted to run his fingers through the waves, lose himself in their luxury. Her hair, among all her other features, had to be his favorite. Noting a slight tremor in her shoulders, he gently laid a hand on her arm. “You want to tell me about it?” Shar turned around. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I was waiting for you to call.” “And that’s what has you so upset?” One side of his lip curled in amusement. “You knew I was working. I had a body to dig up. These things take time.” “I know. That’s not what I’m talking about.” She placed a long tapered finger on his lips to still his words. He fought the urge to kiss it and draw it within his mouth. “Quiet, for once in your life, KC, and let me finish. This isn’t about you.” 189

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Following her direction, he said nothing. “As I said, I was waiting for your call. When the phone rang, I thought it was you. Instead, the person on the other end didn’t say a word. I could tell someone was on the other end because I could hear noise in the background. Just as I was about to hang up, a creepy voice hissed, ‘You’re just like your mother.’ I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, KC. What was my mother like?” The phrase struck KC as odd. Shar and her mother were opposite ends of the spectrum. Her virginity still intact at the age of twenty-four proved as much and he had been the rotten bastard to carelessly take it. “Did you know my mother, KC?” “Barely.” KC was not about to expound to her anything he knew about Alison. Some things were better off left buried. “Your mother died when you were three. Mac and I didn’t become friends until you were nine.” “I know, but I thought, since you lived in Pine Knot most of your life, you might have known her. After all, she was a teacher. It was a small school.” “I knew her, Shar, but I didn’t have her for any of my classes.” “My father told me my mother was pretty popular with the students—that many knew her. By the tone in the caller’s voice, his accusation seemed negative. So in what way am I like my mother?” “I can’t answer that, Shar. Maybe you should talk to Mac. I could call him at General Lee’s if you’d like.” “No. Mac has enough on his mind.” “Can you tell me about the noises you think were in the background…people talking?” “No voices.” “Can you describe the sound?” “Why is it so important?” “Maybe we can at least ascertain the area the phone call came from if the noise was distinctive in any way.” 190

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“It really wasn’t that unusual, KC. More like traffic driving by— like what you might hear when you’re near a freeway. That could mean the call could have come from anywhere. If you stand deep in the woods near here, you can hear the traffic from State Route 27.” Shar was right—the call could have come from almost anywhere. “What did the caller ID say?” “The number came up OUT OF AREA.” “I figured as much. He’d be an idiot not to think of that. Star-SixtySeven blocks his number from going through.” KC ached with the need to comfort her. But if he took her within his embrace, he’d carry her off to bed. The hunger within his groin had started the minute he jogged up the path to the house and she came flying into his arms. His thinking had been faulty. Hell, he had been wrong to think one time in her arms would rid him of this ridiculous desire to bed her. Instead, it had only increased it. Tenfold. * * * Shar carefully watched KC’s expression. She had wanted him for so long, and had finally achieved her goal, but now he treated her with indifference, as though nothing had happened between them. Maybe their afternoon in the forest had been a mistake. KC Tanner cared for no one but himself, his whole reason for being a bachelor. All she wanted from him was comfort, protection. Months ago he gave it freely and without thought. Now, KC actually seemed afraid to touch her. He looked at the wood-plank flooring. “Maybe I should go. Mac will be home before too long, and there is obviously nothing else I can do. If you get another call, report it to the station immediately. We’ll see if we can’t track it down.” Shar tipped his chin. “Is that what you really want, KC? Do you want to just walk out of here? Act as though nothing happened today?” KC glanced at Shar, his expression unreadable. She wished she 191

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could read his thoughts, to know what drove him to push away everyone in his life. “Can you forget so easily?” she asked. KC placed his palm on her cool cheek. She leaned into the warmth and closed her eyes. “You used to make me feel so protected. Like no one could ever hurt me.” “Childhood illusions, Shar.” “No, KC, even before I went off to college I felt that way. I was eighteen then—not a child. Remember when I went to the prom?” KC smiled; his eyes twinkled with the memory. “You scared my date half to death. Told him if he ever lay his hands on me again, you’d take it as a personal threat to you. That you would hunt him down.” Shar laughed. “I think I actually heard his knees knock.” “You were the sister I never had, Shar. I couldn’t allow some bumbling schoolboy with raging hormones to bully you into having sex.” “You weren’t my brother, KC—and you aren’t now. I thought we proved as much this afternoon.” KC’s complexion reddened and he turned toward the door. Shar knew he wrestled with traveling through it. She walked an arc around him, making him look at her once again. “Don’t shut me out, KC.” His gaze narrowed. “What the hell do you want from me, Shar? I’m thirty-eight. You need someone more your age.” “So you’ve said many times—and I’m still not listening.” “I’m Mac’s best friend. What kind of a friend sleeps with his best friend’s daughter…steals her virginity, for crying out loud?” “You didn’t steal it, KC. I gave it to you.” Shar could see by his expression that she was losing the battle, and if she didn’t do something quick, he’d make a run for it. She slid a hand down his tee shirt, feeling his muscles jump beneath her touch, causing 192

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him to groan. “Can you honestly say you don’t want me?” He clasped her hand against his heavily beating heart. “What does that tell you, Shar? My heart feels as if it’s going to burst. Although I know how wrong it is, it doesn’t stop me from wanting to carry you upstairs.” “Then what is stopping you?” KC laughed. “For one, we are in your father’s house. What the hell happens when he comes through that door? You think it’s going to be all right with him that you and I are sleeping together? Do you know how many times he warned me to stay away from you?” “He won’t be home for at least another couple of hours.” KC glanced at the clock; Shar knew he weighed his options. Smiling, she stepped closer, not wanting to give him the opportunity to slip out the door. Not when she was so near to closing the gap. He placed his hands on both sides of her face. “Look, sweetheart, you’ve been through a hell of an ordeal. You may think you want this, but you don’t. You don’t want what I have to offer. You need love and comfort. I can’t give you that.” “How can you pretend to even know what I want? What I need is you.” “You need comfort, Shar. I’m not the right man for the job—trust me. Comforting is the last thing on my mind right now. You don’t want to know the path my thoughts have taken. It involves you and me in a very unholy alliance.” “That makes two of us, KC. I want the exact same thing as you. So why deny what we both want?” He gnawed on his lower lip, then turned away. “I have to go.” Shar gently laid a hand on his shoulder blade. “Please don’t. Stay with me, KC—make love to me.” He turned quickly, causing her to jump, and encompassed her within his embrace. A shiver ran up her spine as he spoke softly in her 193

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ear, his breath tickling the sensitive flesh. “We aren’t going to do that again, Shar. I’m sorry, but I can’t allow it. I have to make the right decision for both of us. What happened this afternoon wasn’t it.” Shar tipped her face and emphatically touched her lips to his. As though losing the battle of wills, his hold tightened around her. He returned the kiss, deepening it as he slipped his tongue within her mouth. Her limbs numbed, her knees nearly gave out as she leaned into his strength. Her heart slowed its beating as she prayed KC had stopped fighting what she knew they both desired. To hell with her father, should he come home, then she would sneak KC out the back. Right now, all that mattered was her and the man embracing her. She slipped her arms around his neck, her fingers grasping the black hair at his nape, not wanting the moment to end. Then all too quickly, he broke free and held her at arms’ length. “Now unless you want to talk about that phone call, I’m out of here. You’re killing me, Shar. A man can take only so much.” “I could fix—” “Shar,” his tone warned, “I mean it. We either talk about the phone call or your father. Nothing more.” Shar sighed, resigned to giving KC his way for now, walked to the sofa and sat down, patting the spot beside her. He opted for the chair across from her. Sitting, he leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. “Let’s talk about Mac.” * * * Lines of worry crossed her face, telling KC that Shar was as concerned about her father’s recent behavior as he. “What about him?” she asked. “His sudden drinking, Shar—don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” Thankfully they had managed to switch topics, and with good timing. He had been far too close to carrying Shar to her small secondstory bedroom, and to hell with what Mac thought or the possibility that he might walk in on them. The brief kiss had given him an erection 194

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to outpace all the others. He was damn near in pain from wanting what he had no right taking. Being noble was hard—damn hard. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, KC. I just didn’t know what to say. Daddy always drank, just not in such large quantities. I’m worried about him.” KC nodded. “Mac and I have drunk together on numerous occasions. But now it seems the drinking is controlling him. I walked into the office the other morning and he was adding whisky to his morning coffee. It didn’t even seem to bother him that I was there.” “I’m sure it did, KC. Daddy isn’t one who likes his weaknesses to show.” “Agreed. But the question is, what has him turning to the bottle? Hell, it looks like he cares little about anything these days. Something is really bothering him. I can tell.” “I wanted to come to you earlier about this, KC. As a matter of fact, I was doing just that the night…” Shar stopped herself, and looked to her lap. “The night what, Shar?” “It’s not important.” “The hell it isn’t or you wouldn’t have brought it up. What night?” “I came by your house the night you had the bar maid’s daughter over.” KC chuckled. So she had seen Tina Sue kissing him. “I don’t find it funny, KC.” “I’m not laughing at you, sweetheart. But it’s not what you thought it was.” “My eyes don’t lie, KC. You two were in the doorway kissing.” “She kissed me.” “And I suppose she placed your hand on her breast?” KC furrowed his brow. “Excuse me? I didn’t have my hand anywhere near her breasts.” “I know what I saw, KC.” 195

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He thought back to the night Tina Sue paid him a visit and didn’t recall touching her breasts. Not that he hadn’t thought about it—any hot-blooded male would have. Then he remembered. He had held his bottle of beer against his chest when Tina Sue leaned in, trapping it there. From the driveway, surely it must have looked… “Shar, I wasn’t fondling Tina Sue. She leaned in and kissed me. She trapped my hand between us, but I swear I wasn’t touching her in an improper manner.” KC waited for Shar to say something, but when she didn’t, he continued. “I’ve always been here for you, Shar. Had you stuck around, you would have seen that I sent Tina Sue on her way.” “You’ve been treating me different lately, KC. We used to have a bond. You always seemed to be there for me to solve my problems, smooth out the wrinkles. Lately—you just avoid me.” Heat rose up KC’s neck. Shar was right and there was no denying it. Hell, he had done everything possible lately to get rid of her. When she needed him most, he had turned his back. “Guilty,” he replied. Shar stood, walked to KC, and knelt at his feet. She placed her hands on his knees. “Why, KC? Why did you turn your back on me?” KC grasped her chin. “I didn’t mean to turn my back on you, sweetheart. I’d never intentionally hurt you.” “What the hell is going on here?” Mac bellowed as he staggered in the door. “I was just leaving,” KC said, standing. He glanced one final time at Shar. Her look spoke volumes—she wasn’t happy ending the conversation. “I came by to check on Shar. Seems she received a prank call while you was nursing your beer, Mac.” Mac’s bloodshot gaze fell on Shar. Anger radiated in the depths of hers. She shot KC a glance meant to level him. “It was nothing, Daddy, really. Probably some teenager out to get his kicks.” She stood and bussed her father’s cheek. “I’ll see the two of you tomorrow, I’m going to bed.” 196

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As Shar left, Mac and KC stood side by side, watching her retreat. KC couldn’t help think of how close he had come to admitting way too much of his soul when Mac arrived and saved him the embarrassment. “Well, Mac, I’m out of here as well. Tomorrow’s Sunday and I think I need to pay a visit to the Lord’s house.” Mac smirked. “You’ve had this sudden need for church lately, KC, when you never did before. What has you feeling the need to go now?” “I think I have some explaining to do to the Lord. Night, Mac,” he said and walked out the door. A whole lot of explaining, he thought, as he crawled into the cab of his SUV. * * * “Pastor Jackson,” KC said as he shook the reverend’s hand following the Sunday morning service. The sun crested a short time ago and the temperature had hit eighty. The day promised to be a hot one as wavy lines of heat could be seen rising from the asphalt of the church parking lot. “Glad to see you in the Lord’s house, Kevin. It’s a great beginning to getting you back on track with your spiritual self.” “I was hoping you would have a bit of time this morning. There is something I need to talk to you about.” Thomas Jackson looked at the watch. “Lunch isn’t until noon. Martha usually brings by fried chicken on Sundays. I’d hate to miss that.” “It won’t take long, Pastor. I promise.” KC scratched the back of his neck. He really had to be out of his mind to even consider telling the man what had occurred less than twenty-four hours ago. “I need a little advice.” “Go wait for me in my office, Kevin. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” The minutes seemed like hours. But due to KC’s taut nerves over his upcoming confession, the clock ticked by very slowly. The door to the office finally swung open. Heat rushed into the air197

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conditioned room, nearly stealing KC’s breath. Sweat beaded the pastor’s forehead. He wiped away the perspiration with the back of his hand. “The good Lord knows we shouldn’t have to wear those heavy robes on Sunday’s like this. What can I do for you today, Kevin?” the reverend asked as he sat behind his desk. “Although I am surely glad to see you at the service today, I’m afraid there is more to it than just your need to hear His word.” KC looked to his feet. “I have a confession to make.” “Confession is good for the soul. What have you done that has you so worried?” No sense beating around the bush, KC thought. “I bowed to temptation.” “Is this the problem we had been discussing—you wanting to have sexual relations with Sharalee?” KC’s face heated. “Yes.” Something about admitting as much to Thomas Jackson made him feel dirty inside, shamed. The minister folded his hands across his stomach and leaned back in his chair. Even with his eyes downcast, KC felt the pastor’s eyes on him. “Sin is a tempting and wicked thing. But God forgives those who come to him and ask. Are you asking, Kevin?” Looking back at the pastor, he said, “I’m not sure I have a right.” “And why’s that?” “Because although I know how wrong it was and that it should never happen again, I know it will.” “I see.” “Any suggestions?” “You thought any more about marrying the girl?” KC shook his head. “I’m not the marrying kind, Pastor. I told you that. I’m already married to my job. And this job’s too demanding to take on a spouse.” “I can’t help you then, Kevin, if you aren’t willing to work at it. If you continue to live in that sin, you cannot be repentant. But to 198

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recognize the wrongdoing and walk away from it, that’s when absolution comes.” “I can’t walk away. Even though I want to, I know that, given the opportunity—it will happen again.” Sleeping with Shar had never been a religious issue to KC. To him, just the fact that he was fourteen years older made it reason enough to be wrong. “Does Sheriff MacArthur know?” KC laughed. “I doubt I’d be alive to tell the story if he did.” “Maybe it’s him that you should be confessing to, then. Is it not he who you have wronged?” If he thought for a minute that the guilt would ease if he told Mac about Shar, he would have told him in the woods yesterday. He certainly had enough opportunities. But Mac wasn’t the only problem. The biggest problem was his past and the secrets he kept locked away. “I’m not sure Mac is the answer. Or that he is the entire reason for my guilt.” Pastor Jackson leaned forward, placing his folded hands atop the desk. “What do you mean, Kevin?” KC knew it was all or nothing. In order to allow the Pastor to counsel him, to lift the burden he carried like a boulder, then he had to be straight-forward, tell everything—including the sins of a seventeenyear-old boy. He had kept it inside for so long he wasn’t even sure where to begin. “Well, Pastor, it started some twenty-one years ago…”

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CHAPTER 19

KC hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what the pastor had advised him to do. He had spent the rest of yesterday afternoon avoiding Shar, as he wasn’t exactly sure he felt Thomas Jackson had been right. Given a day to think about it, he still hadn’t come to a conclusion. But instead of making decisions that just might affect the way Shar felt about him, KC poured himself into what he did best—his work. Pulling up to the broken-down mobile home, sitting a couple of dozen yards off old M Ross Road, KC cut the engine and jumped from the cab. The heels of his boots crunched on the gravel as he stepped over discarded debris laying in damn near the same spot since his last visit to the Smith homestead. It didn’t appear as though Paul had yet gotten around to his spring cleaning, KC thought with a chuckle. Paul was one of Pine Knot’s oldest original residents, born and raised here. The way KC had it figured, if anyone knew the dirt on the town or any of its residents, it would be Paul Smith or one of his old 200

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cronies who regularly continued to play cards. Although George was no longer with them, they still met at the Stop ’n’ Shop, either out of habit or a tribute to their old friend. KC knocked on the metal door, shoved his hands deep within his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he awaited an answer. Finally, the door creaked open. “Mr. Smith?” Paul coughed a few times, then spit on the ground too near KC’s feet for his liking. Hell, he ought to be used to the gesture, being around Mac so much of his day, but the habit annoyed him nonetheless. “What can I do for you this time, Deputy?” Scratching his freshly-shaved jaw, KC said, “I have a few more questions—things that have been plaguing me—and I was wondering if you might have some of the answers.” Paul opened the door wider and allowed KC into his home. The state of the interior changed very little as did the outside. Paul kicked a few scattered newspapers to the side and offered KC a seat. Declining the invite, KC pulled out his recorder. “You don’t mind if I record this?” “Nope,” Paul said as he grasped a cigarette from the pack lying on the side table. He left it dangle from his lips, unlit. He narrowed his watery gaze. “That is, if I ain’t in some kind of trouble.” KC chuckled, remembering having gone through this conversation with Paul the first time he had interviewed him. “No trouble at all, Paul. I just have this funny inkling you might be able to help me piece together some of this puzzle.” Paul stepped over the broken footrest of the recliner, then sat heavily onto the chair. “Shoot. I’ll do what I can.” KC read Paul his non-custodial rights, making sure to legally cover his ass. He didn’t want to take any chances at losing any possible piece of knowledge Paul might have concerning his cases. Finally, with Paul acknowledging he understood, KC asked, “The 201

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last time I was here, we talked about Alison MacArthur. You remember that?” “Sure do. You was wonderin’ who George had been having an affair with.” “You think of anyone else? That is, besides Alison MacArthur?” “Nope,” Paul wheezed, sending him into a coughing jag. He picked up his inhaler and squeezed. After a few minutes, his breathing relaxed. “You aren’t here about George, though, are you?” “Not directly, Paul, although we still have a cold case where his death is concerned.” “You have any ideas who’d have wanted George dead? Any suspects?” “We’re working on it, nothing solid.” KC paused, trying to decide exactly how much he wanted to divulge his suspicions about the case: the missing medal, the chewing tobacco pouch, the sheriff’s wife. It all made Mac look pretty damn guilty—but KC was not ready to include Mac as a suspect. Everything they had was purely circumstantial. Besides, what possible motive would Mac have in killing these men? Alison MacArthur—her name niggled his brain. “I need to ask you about a couple of other cases, Paul.” “I thought you might.” KC’s brow rose heavenward. “You already know who I’m talking about?” With his thin lips, Paul tightened his hold on the cigarette and lit it. The smoke curled past his nostrils and his pale blue eyes. He scratched the white stubble on his sunken cheeks as he leaned his head against the worn recliner’s headrest. Out of the corner of his mouth, he asked, “This about Reese Walker and Kip Lawrence? I read where Kip was missing.” “He isn’t missing anymore, Paul. We think we found him Saturday. The autopsy hasn’t been done yet to determine the identity, but we’re pretty sure we just dug up his remains.” 202

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Paul nodded, though not appearing too surprised. “I thought you might not find him alive.” Curious, KC asked, “Why?” “Boy’s been missing three weeks—didn’t look to me like he’d be coming back.” “Lots of people come up missing every year, Paul. That doesn’t make them dead. Some are runaways; some have good explanations.” Paul took a long drag from his cigarette. The tip glowed bright red, then he exhaled the smoke, coughing a few times. “Not all of them are former residents of Pine Knot. These kinds of dealings just don’t happen ’round here very often.” “You think there’s a tie somewhere?” “You tell me.” “I think the tie-in is Alison MacArthur. For some reason her name continues to pop into each investigation. You think this might be some sort of a connection to the past?” “Can’t say for sure.” “You know anything about Reese or Kip that may link them to Alison?” Paul shrugged. “Rumor had it that Reese Walker hit on Alison. He had it bad. Knew she was offerin’ it up for half the county, including some of them school kids she taught.” KC flinched, though Paul continued without taking notice. It hadn’t been the first time KC had heard that rumor. “When she turned him down, Reese spread vicious rumors around town about her being the town whore. Damn near ruined her career. School Board was looking into dismissing her. Mac and Reese banged heads about it. Shoot, I thought at one time Mac might just make the bastard disappear—permanently. After all, who better to get away with murder than an officer of the law. He’d know what kind of clues they’d look for. Besides, everyone knows cops protect their own. The whole brotherhood mentality.” “I wouldn’t cover up a murder for any of my colleagues,” KC 203

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stated, thinking about the possibility of what Paul had said. Could Mac be exacting some sort of revenge for the past? Paul was right. Who better to commit the perfect crime than a cop. “What about Kip—where does he fit into all of this? He was a deputy on the force. Why would Mac go after one of his own?” “I’m only drudging up old rumors here. I ain’t sayin’ the sheriff is guilty of anything.” “What about Kip?” “Kip Lawrence was a deputy with Mac, his partner on the force. The two of them pretty much hung together. Good buddies—sort of like you and Mac.” “So what happened? From what I could dig up, I found that Kip left town shortly after Alison’s death. Just quit the force. No one has been able to give me answers as to why.” Paul slowly nodded as if he held all the answers in that ol’ withered head of his. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, coughed into a hankie, then stubbed the butt into the filled ashtray sitting on the stand. When his coughing subsided, he wiped away the wetness gathering in his eyes. Clearing his throat, Paul continued his tale. “Years ago, word had it that Kip raped Alison.” KC’s brow raised in skepticism. “Surely Mac would not have allowed—” Paul laughed, sending him into another coughing fit. “Hell, Mac didn’t believe it. He’d have killed Kip right there on the spot. Mac had a helluva temper. Beat the shit out of a guy in the bar one night. Damn near killed him just because the fool was stupid enough to place his hand on Alison’s backside. Mac walked away that night without so much as looking back to see if the poor bastard lived or died.” KC had witnessed Mac’s temper soar only once, the night the bootlegger had taken a shot at him. KC had to pull Mac off the old codger in the end. Even though Mac had saved his life, KC wondered 204

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about Mac’s volatile side. It was as though there were two Macs. But since he hadn’t seen it again, KC had written it off as a one-time burst of anger. Hell, KC might have reacted the same way had someone attempted to kill Mac. “Did Kip rape Alison?” Paul shrugged. “Don’t know. All I know is, right after Alison died, Kip quit the force, moved away.” “So let’s see if I have this straight? George Stanton was rumored to have had an affair with Alison, Reese Walker spread nasty rumors about her after she turned him down, and Kip was possibly guilty of raping the woman.” “That’s about the size of it.” “Anyone else on the force at that time disappear or quit shortly after Alison’s death? Someone that might have been involved in this whole mess? Or have we now exhausted all of players?” Paul grasped his pack of cigarettes from the table, soundly tapped them on the recliner arm, then extracted one, placing it between his lips where he let it dangle. “There was one other that quit the force. But I don’t recall any rumors that he was involved with Alison at all.” “What’s his connection?” “Aside from George, there were four of them that hung pretty regular. Two of the four are now dead.” “Mac and Kip, who were both deputies, Reese Walker who was a councilman at the time…Who’s the fourth?” “He was a deputy like Mac and Kip, left the force right after Alison died as well. Mac was the only one who stayed on.” “Who?” “Lee Burton.” * * * The sun set nearly an hour ago, making KC ready for a hot shower and bed. It had been a long day of gathering what evidence he could and trying some way to disconnect Mac from the whole puzzle. But try 205

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as hard as he might, he couldn’t get the job done. Too much of what Paul had said put the sheriff smack dab in the middle. Could it be Mac had waited nearly a lifetime for revenge? Had his whole life been a facade? After unlocking the door to his cabin, KC flipped on the light switch, flooding the small room with soft recessed lighting. He hung his hat on a hook by the door and bulled off his boots, dropping them with a thud on the polished wood floor. Zappa came running from around the sofa, nudging him with his nose. KC patted his head, then playfully shoved his big nose away. Zappa, unscathed, trotted over to his dish and began eating. For some reason, he rarely ate until KC walked through the door. With a grin, KC shook his head as he pulled his pancake holster from his jeans and placed it with the gun high above the bookshelf where he kept it for safekeeping. Yanking his black tee over his head, he walked toward the bathroom when a movement from the side caught his attention. KC stopped in his tracks and listened to the soft padding of bare feet as someone approached from the darkened corner of the room. He whirled on his heel, his hand drawn back and ready to strike with a heel-palm to the nose. His biceps bunched as he stopped just in time to keep from knocking Shar on her cute little backside, or worse, breaking her nose. Her wide-eyed look left KC chuckling, as his heart leapt crazily in his chest. He had been working far too hard as of late. He should have known Zappa would take care of any intruders, but the dog would not consider Shar a threat. On the contrary, Zappa liked her a lot. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t get knocked on your ass, Shar. You ought to know better than to sneak up on me.” “I wasn’t sneaking up on you.” She grinned. When KC gave Shar a look saying he didn’t believe her, she continued. “Okay—so maybe I wanted to surprise you. I used Daddy’s key.” 206

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Her warm smile affected every inch of his bare flesh like a flame to candle wax, causing him to realize he had on far too little clothes. And as if to prove his point, her gaze traveled to his chest, then down to his abs, landing on the front of his jeans. His groin tightened. He gave her his back and headed for the bathroom. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be gone by the time I get out of the shower.” He heard her answering humph as he closed and locked the bathroom door, glad for the two-inch thickness of wood between them. He needed lots of space. Though his mind told him sleeping with her again would be wrong for the both of them, his body told him otherwise. He needed a cold shower and fast. With any luck, Shar would listen, for once in her life, and be gone by the time he got out of the shower. Icy water spurted, then came to life and sprayed over his aroused body, raising gooseflesh. His body shivered and shriveled. Tilting his head beneath the spray of water, he tried to forget the tantalizing woman sitting in his living room and what he really wanted to do with her. * * * Shar pouted. She had hoped KC would be glad to see her. In fact, she had hoped he would be so thrilled that he would have picked her up and carried her to his massive, king-size bed, making love to her. Shar had laid on the waterbed, waiting for him to come home all evening, imagining the scenario in her head, time and again. It had been a great fantasy. But, as always, reality rarely matched up. His cold shower might help his state of being, but it was doing nothing for hers. She knew he had locked the door, heard the soft click of the button being turned. An idea formed. Shar ran to his desk and rummaged through the drawers, looking for 207

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a small screwdriver. She had used the trick several times in her own home, and with any luck, his locks worked pretty much the same. In the third drawer from the top, she found what she had been looking for. Shar giggled in glee and headed for the locked door. Inserting the tiny screwdriver into the hole on the knob, she turned gently until it fit into the groove and popped open the lock. She grinned, pulled her floral sundress over her head, and quietly stepped into the tiny room. If KC had started with a cold shower, he had quickly changed the temperature, as steam filtered over the enclosure and collected on the glass door, obstructing his view of her. Stepping out of her panties and unhooking her bar, she allowed the silk fabric to fall beside his jeans that lay haphazardly on the floor. Shar grasped the handle on the shower door and pulled it open. In stunned shock, KC quickly wiped the soap from his face and blinked at Shar. At first she thought him ready to send her out of the bathroom with the scolding she no doubt deserved. Instead, to her delight, he grasped her wrist and yanked her beneath the hot stream. * * * Atop his damp sheets, KC lay between her spread thighs, his lips surrounding one pert nipple. Shar tilted her head into the pillow, her hands grasping the sheets at her sides as she arched into him and matched his every thrust. The night had brought them very little sleep. The sun crested the horizon and cast light upon their bare bodies through the opened windows. KC’s dark skin looked tanned against her more pale flesh. She loved the look and feel of him on top of her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to make love to another. Shar had quickly found out how insatiable KC Tanner could be. Not that she complained, but surely the day would bring a soreness to muscles that she wasn’t aware she had. They had made glorious love throughout the night, falling asleep within each other’s arms, only to wake up and start all over again. 208

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His teeth nipped at her breast then licked the reddened area, instantly soothing the pleasure-pain, while his hand teased and tweaked her other breast. KC increased his thrusts. Her back slid up the sheets as her hands entwined in his jet-black hair, sending white hot lights bursting within her. Her knees tightened around his slim hips and her world exploded. “KC,” she whispered to the chilled morning air as he found his own release, tilting back his head and groaning. His muscles tightened and his body became still before he collapsed atop her. After a few moments, he raised his head, rolled from her, and placed an arm over his eyes. Shar rolled into his side, placing a thigh across his. Her hand toyed with the black coarse hair on his chest. A shiver passed through him. Shar placed a kiss atop his heart then looked up at him. He had moved his arm to his brow and was staring down at her. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, don’t you?” Shar smiled, then licked one of nipples, causing it to peak. “I thought you liked it.” “Oh, I do, sweetheart. Make no mistake about it. More than you can imagine.” Her heart swelled. Maybe there would be hope for them yet. If she could satisfy him, then maybe he would see how much they belonged together. She knew KC had no intentions of getting married, now or in the future. He had stated so many times. And although she wanted to one day walk down that aisle and have children, she would have to be content for the time being, maybe even one day convince KC that he needed the same thing as she. “Are you complaining?” KC gathered his arms around her and pulled her against him. “That wasn’t a complaint”—he kissed her forehead—“it was a compliment.” She lay her ear against his chest and listened to his heartbeat as it slowed and returned to normal. 209

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“Tell me about them.” KC raised his head and looked at her. “Who?” Tracing a lazy circle in the hair matting his chest, she said, “Your parents.” “Why?” “Because I want to know. I want to know why you never talk about them.” “They died, Shar.” She could feel his muscles tense—knew the subject still seemed off-limits, yet she trudged forward. “I know, KC. It was a car accident. They were hit by a drunk driver.” “So what the hell do you want to know?” She stopped the circles, placed a hand beneath her chin and looked at him. “Why don’t you ever talk about it?” “Because it’s too painful.” “My mother died.” “Dammit, Shar—it’s not the same thing.” “Why isn’t it? The only difference is you lost them both.” He grasped her face with his palms. “No, the difference is I could have stopped it from happening.” Her heart slowed, seemed sluggish. “What do you mean?” Releasing her, he lay his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, becoming distant. “I stopped the drunk.” “I don’t understand. He didn’t leave the scene.” “Before, Shar. I could have arrested him. But instead, I let him go. He traveled down the road and broadsided my parents.” Her breath caught in her throat. No wonder KC never talked about their death. He felt responsible. She kissed the area above his heart. “It’s not your fault.” He shifted away from her. “Sure it is.” Before he could slide off the bed, Shar said, “You couldn’t have 210

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known, KC. Don’t carry this with you like the spoils of war. It’s over.” “Yeah.” He half-heartedly laughed. “It sure in the hell is.” “You have me.” He kissed her forehead. “I know I do. I’ll be fine, really. I’ve learned to live with it.” “I hope so.” “Look, I have a long day ahead of me, Shar. I should get up and jump back in the shower before Mac comes looking for me. I’m not so sure either of us would live through his wrath.” Shar laughed. “Daddy wouldn’t be pleased—but he’d get used to the idea. He’ll have to if we give him no choice.” * * * KC let go of her, then used one hand to tilt her chin so she could look into his gaze. “And what do you plan on telling him?” “Not that we’re sleeping together.” Her eyes twinkled in the morning light. “But somehow, I think he’ll draw his own conclusions. We won’t have to tell him. He’ll likely see it in my face.” “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Shar. As a matter of fact, us seeing each other isn’t wise.” KC thought about his conversation with the pastor, finally realizing that the reverend had been right. If he were to even entertain the idea of a relationship with Shar, then he had to be up front with her. Tell her everything. Her brow furrowed. “What’s not good about it, KC? You just want to screw me? Is that it?” He had handled that poorly. The last thing he wanted Shar to think was that she was some sort of one night stand or a quick roll in the hay. She deserved better. He grasped her shoulders to keep her from leaving the bed in a huff. “You misunderstood me, sweetheart. I would never just screw you and leave. Hell, I can’t seem to get you off my mind when we’re apart, no matter how I try. I know you and I aren’t the best match for many 211

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reasons. Believe me—every reason has already crossed my mind at least a thousand times. But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I couldn’t dismiss the fact that I wanted you. Hell, I should be more like your brother, not your lover. I watched you grow up, for crying out loud.” She relaxed in his hold, allowing him to loosen his grip. “I don’t want you to act like my brother, KC. I want what we just shared.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t mind having a little of that every night. To be totally honest, I want more than just sex, but I’m not sure you have it to give, so I’m willing to take whatever you have.” “I don’t know what I have to offer, Shar. I’m married to my job. It comes first; it always will. But—” His beeper sounded from the side table. He grasped it and looked at the number. “Speaking of…Mac’s looking for me. I have to give him a call.” “This can’t wait? At least finish what you were about to tell me, KC. We can’t let this hang. I need to know where I stand and if I should even bother coming back.” KC kissed her mouth, slipping his tongue within her satiny folds. She melded against him, returning the deep kiss, nearly springing his placid parts to life again. As much as the idea appealed to him, he couldn’t stay abed all day. He ended the brief kiss. “There’s something you need to know, Shar. Something you may not like. If you decide you still want this”—his hand did a sweep of the bed, indicating what had just occurred between them—“after I reveal a part of my past, then you should come back. Hell, I want you to, anytime you feel you need me.” “What if you don’t want me?” “Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s possible. If I had more time now…” Though KC had made an obvious attempt at a joke, Shar’s face remained serious. “What do you have to tell me, KC? What would 212

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make you think I wouldn’t want to come back?” “Remember when I told you I didn’t know your mother very well, that I didn’t have her for a teacher in school?” Shar sat up, grasping the sheet, doing her best to conceal herself as though vanity had suddenly set in and she feared what he had to say. She had every right to be anxious about his admission. Because likely, in the span of a few spoken words, she would never want to talk to him again. “What is it, KC? I can tell by the look in your eyes this is something I’m not going to want to hear. Am I right?” “Yes,” he said, running a hand down her soft cheek, memorizing her skin’s smoothness. It may be the last time she ever allowed him to touch her. “You have to listen to me. If there is to be anything between us, then there cannot be any secrets.” “Then say it, KC. Don’t drag it out—just tell me. I’m a big girl.” “Your mother, Alison—she taught me how to treat a woman.” Knitting her brows together, pulling the sheet tighter around her, she asked, “In what way?” so softly that he barely heard. “We had sex, Shar. She was my first.” He could see her slender throat bob as she swallowed, attempting to digest the fact that she had slept with one of her mother’s lovers. “Does Daddy know?” “I’ve never told anyone.” “Just once, KC? Please tell me it was just once.” Tears pooled in her eyes. One slipped past the barrier of her eyelash, making a trek down her cheek. “I can possibly live with that. Once is a mistake. A stupid mistake.” KC wished he could take back his words as his heart ripped down the center, leaving him bleeding. She would never forgive him. “Not just once, Shar. Several times—I don’t know. I was a boy, in the prime of my life. I never counted.” “So my mother had you?” 213

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“Shar, don’t…” “Was she good, KC?” “Don’t do this, Shar!” “Was she better than me? Did she make you hot, KC?” KC groaned. How the hell would they ever get past this? He reached out to her. She batted away his hand. “Don’t touch me!” “It was a long time ago.” “It could have been yesterday, had she not died. I can’t believe you did this to Daddy. He’s your best friend.” “I didn’t know Mac at the time. You know that.” “How old were you, KC? What age was my mother stooping to?” “Seventeen.” “Oh, God,” she whispered, doubling over as though in pain. “You were a student—her student.” “I was a senior, Shar, but I was not her student.” She stumbled from the bed, finding her rumpled sundress and slipped it on as his beeper went off again. “Answer the damn call, KC. It’s probably Daddy. And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell him how you screwed both the women in his life. I’m sure he’d love that, KC!” she screamed in near hysteria. “Who was better? Me? Or my mother? Who was the better lover?” She put her hand in front of her. “On second thought, don’t tell me; I don’t think I want to hear the answer.” She ran from the room, slamming the front door behind her. “Damn!” Grasping the phone by the bed, he punched in the numbers from his beeper. “Where the hell you been, KC?” Mac spat into the other end of the phone. “Trust me on this one, Mac—you don’t want to know.” 214

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CHAPTER 20

KC walked to the back of the small white-sided home. Several deputies leaned against the back door, shooting the breeze while noting all who entered. KC nodded at the newer deputy. “Who’s been inside?” KC asked as he came to a stop, his gaze searching the yard, wondering what evidence had already been trampled on by the department of curiosity-seeking deputies. The young man looked at his paper. “Sheriff MacArthur is still inside, Sir. He’s with the coroner, Doctor Johnson.” “Anyone else?” “Not at the moment.” “Before that?” “Deputies Miller and Crawford, Sir. They were first to arrive.” “Anyone else? You?” “No, Sir. I have not entered the house.” “See to it no one else enters without my permission. Where did Crawford and Miller take off to?” 215

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“I believe the sheriff has them combing the side yard for evidence, Sir.” Without another word, KC entered the home, mindful of where he stepped. He knew they used the rear entrance to the home as it was more than likely the less traveled. They didn’t want to destroy any evidence by their coming and goings. He walked through a small kitchen. Aside from a few dirty dishes in the sink, it remained rather spotless and untouched. KC jotted down in his notebook that he doubted the room had been entered by the perp, but would have prints taken nonetheless. Traveling through the large archway into the living room, KC drew in a deep breath. The stench nearly sent him to his knees. The smell of too-raw blood, body fluids, and feces had him covering his nose. “Dear, God,” he mumbled, drawing Doc Johnson and Mac’s attention. “About damn time you showed up,” Mac spat. “What the hell, we disturb that beauty sleep of yours?” “What sleep?” KC stepped further into the room, careful not to disturb any of the dried blood spattering the walls and carpeting. But by the looks of things, it would be one difficult task, as blood seemed to be damn near everywhere. Mac chuckled, though no humor laced the sound. “Looks that way. As a matter of fact, you look like hell.” “Thanks, Mac. Glad you think so.” Wanting to get the conversation off him and the night he had spent, he asked, “Who called this one in?” Mac placed his hands on his hips. “I found him.” KC jerked his gaze to Mac’s. “A social visit?” “I had a few things I wanted to discuss with him. Doesn’t look like I’m going to get any answers anytime soon, though.” “You think the victim had answers to our cold cases?” “Possibly. But we’ll never know now.” “Who was he?” 216

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“Lee Burton.” KC’s blood ceased flowing. Surely his face mirrored the white, outside siding. “The one that used to be a deputy on the force years ago?” “Yep,” Mac said, hiking up his pants, “that’s the one.” “So we now have two dead ex-deputies.” “Looks that way.” “Think there’s a connection, Mac?” Mac glared at KC. “I don’t know, son—you tell me. You’re the one supposed to be working the cases. What the hell were you doing late last night that kept you from being here where you were supposed to be?” “None of your damn business, Mac.” “It is if it involves my daughter.” KC flinched. “What makes you think what I did has anything to do with Shar?” Mac’s gaze softened. “She didn’t come home last night. And today—you tell me you didn’t get much sleep. I say it’s pretty coincidental given the way she feels about you.” “If you’re accusing me of something, Mac, then get on with it. Otherwise, I have a job to do and you’re keeping me from it.” KC shouldered past the sheriff toward Doc Johnson, who had ignored the exchange. The coroner made an incision in the thorax area of the body. Taking a long needle, he inserted it into the incision on the side, shoving it up and into the area of what KC assumed to be the liver. “You have any idea to time of death?” “Can’t be sure without questioning witnesses as to who saw him last, but if body temperature could be considered accurate, which it can’t always be, I’d say this one’s been dead at least three days.” “That would make it near Friday.” “Looks that way.” 217

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Finished with the reading, Doc Johnson withdrew the instrument and took several pictures of the scene. He rolled the body slightly to the side and noted the fixed lividity pooling in the shoulder blades and buttocks. Using two gloved fingers, he pressed the purplish area. The color remained fast and did not whiten. “I’d say the body hasn’t been moved. Fell here and that’s where your killer left it.” “Murder weapon?” Doc Johnson pointed at a cane laying a few feet away. A steel sculpture attached to the top, covered in blood and what appeared to be pieces of flesh. “Looks like that’s what did the job.” Johnson started packing his bag. “Poor guy; appears someone played batting practice with his head.” KC gritted his teeth. What a hell of a way to die. As he glanced around the room, KC spotted blood on the ceiling, walls and floor some twenty feet away. There was no way in hell the perp walked out of the house without blood covering him from head to toe. And unless he took a shower before he left, his car would contain traces of Lee’s blood. If they were lucky, they’d find traces of Reese’s in there as well. “I’m going to walk the doc to his car,” Mac said as Johnson headed for the rear of the house. “Then I’ll check on Crawford and Miller. See what they came up with on the outside. I think we determined the killer used the front door by the blood on the knobs and the traces of blood we found outside. Doesn’t look like we’ll find prints, though. Appears as though he wore gloves of some sort, possibly leather.” KC nodded as he took latex gloves from his pocket and pulled them on. Grabbing a few paper and plastic bags from the kits the sheriff had brought in, KC started collecting evidence. He used large sections of tape to pat the carpet around the victim, hoping to find some fibers that might connect them to the earlier crimes. It was a long shot, but he could only hope the perp had been 218

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sloppy. So far they found hair clutched in one of the victim’s severed hands, the Red Man pouch, and a missing St. Christopher medal—not much. KC used a small flashlight to peer beneath chairs and cushions and any small crevice he could think of. He had searched the cushions of the couch and chairs, shoved his hands down along the creases and edges, when his fingers contacted something hard. He grasped the object and pulled it from the crack of the sofa where it had obviously slid and been swallowed by the couch, undetected. KC stared at a black leather wallet, similar to the one he carried in his back pocket, the one containing his badge. He flipped open the cover and stared at an identical one. At first glance, he thought it to be Lee’s from years ago. A second look told him he had been wrong—the name MacArthur stared back at him. Son of a bitch. Had Mac lost it while searching the place? Doubtful if it had been lodged within the cushions. It at least, if nothing else, told KC that Mac had been here before. The sheriff walked into the house via the rear. “Find anything?” KC quickly shoved the wallet into his jacket pocket. “Just your usual: fibers, blood samples. I think I have all I need from the victim if Miller has taken the photos.” “He took some before you arrived. Already triangulated the scene— so if you are ready to have the coroner’s assistants move the body, I’ll call them in.” KC looked back at the battered body of Lee Burton. Half of his skull had been caved in. Gray brain matter soiled the carpeting beside what remained of his head. This man had suffered a great deal. “Give me a few more minutes, Mac.” “Will do,” he said, then left. KC continued to stare at the corpse. What the hell was the connection? He had four murders, none of them the same MO, but he 219

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would bet all were related. So what was the connection? Why kill one by crucifixion, one by sawing off his limbs then hanging what’s left? Kip had been buried up to his neck and most likely left to die, and now, Lee Burton—his head used as a baseball to a gargoyle-topped cane. There had to be a connection, something he wasn’t seeing, some link in the way all had died. KC jotted down notes, logged in several bags as evidence, then began covering the victim’s hands and feet with paper bags, carefully documenting everything he did and taking snapshots every step of the way since Miller still combed the grounds for possible evidence. Finally finished with the corpse, KC called for Mac to send in the coroner’s office and allowed them to bag the body and wheel it away. He’d send Crawford to sit in on the autopsy and collect the victim’s clothes for the lab. Later, Mac and KC, having fingerprinted and combed every possible inch of the home, returned to their cars, both smelling as though they themselves had begun to rot, and tired as hell from the long day of work. “Where do we go from here?” Mac asked, switching the Red Man from one cheek to the other, then spitting a stream at his feet. “If we can find out why each man died in the manner they did, we might be able to connect these cases. Something is telling me it’s in the way they were killed.” “I don’t follow, KC. Each of the victim’s died gruesome deaths. But that’s about the end to the connection as I see it.” “I don’t think so. I think each one died the way they did for a purpose. Think about it. Each one obviously suffered a great deal before their death.” Mac nodded. “I agree—that’s torture in anyone’s book.” “Torture?” KC glanced at Mac. Mac chuckled. “What the hell would you call it, KC?” “I agree, but I was just thinking of the terminology of it. Maybe 220

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they were being tortured. If that’s the case, we may have found our connecting MO. We have any relatives we need to inform before this hits the press?” “Not that I know of. Lee was always a loner. Had a wife once— divorced some fifteen years back. I’d say our job here is pretty much done.” KC nodded, feeling the exhaustion clear to his bones, but he still had one more stop to make. He reached for the handle on the door to his SUV. “Where you off to? Want to go to General Lee’s for a few?” “Not this time Mac. I’m heading for the library. With any luck, they’ll still be open.” “Suit yourself, KC—but you better shower first. You stink to high heaven.” KC grinned. “You don’t smell like a breath of fresh air yourself, Mac.” Mac slapped KC on the shoulder. “See you in the morning, KC.” “See you tomorrow, Mac.” Maybe by then it would be a hell of a lot easier to look Mac in the eye, though KC doubted twelve hours would do much good. But one thing was for sure, he hoped like hell he didn’t have to run into Shar. * * * KC left the Whitley City Public Library and headed for Pine Knot, three ledgers in hand. He had found the books he had been looking for. If KC’s hunch turned out to be right, then his perp used ancient methods of torture and execution on all four of his victims. Crucifixion was a form of torture, designed to produce pain and a slow death. Often a person could live in agony for hours or sometimes days. The victim’s legs could be broken, as in George Stanton’s case, not allowing him to use his limps to straighten his body, making his breathing extremely difficult. The accused’s crime was often nailed above his head. According to the town’s longest living resident and 221

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notorious gossip, Paul Smith, George had been accused of adultery with Alison MacArthur. Drawn and quartered, according to historical accounts, was used in only extremely serious crimes where mere hanging alone was thought not to be good enough. They carved the accused into pieces while alive, then hung the remains. Reese Walker had supposedly spurned Alison in public when she had turned down his advances and nearly cost the woman her job and reputation. Alison became the town whore as people whispered about her and Mac behind their backs. KC had first-hand knowledge of Alison MacArthur’s reputation, and Reese Walker’s description of her had not been far off. He remembered the whispering as it filtered into the schools, and even the young boys that began talking in the locker rooms about banging Mrs. MacArthur and how she liked sweet young virgin boys. KC wasn’t the only teenage boy to sample Mrs. MacArthur, teaching him the ropes to adolescent sex. Being buried alive was widely used throughout the ages around the world. In India, women were buried up to their necks with only their head above ground and left to bake in the sun. KC bet Kip Lawrence had been alive at the time of his burial and hoped the autopsy would prove as much, solidifying his hunch. In Kip’s case, his head was left to the woodland animals and became vegetation for them and the bugs. If Paul’s rumor-mill turned out to be true in Kip’s case, then he had raped Alison MacArthur, probably taking what she wouldn’t freely offer. Maybe Kip had been a bit old for her tastes, hence her reasoning for turning him away. As in the last death, American slaves in early history were beaten to death by their masters for insubordination. Lee Burton’s head had been used for batting practice by a steel gargoyle. The question remained as to what Lee had been guilty of. What crime against Alison MacArthur had cost the ex-deputy his life? The four deaths were related, there was no doubt in KC’s mind. 222

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Each death—except the last, so far—pointed back to Mac’s late wife. He made a mental note to look into the death of Alison MacArthur and see what hers had been officially ruled. Mac had told the story how he had left the house, angry at his wife, then came home to find her drowned in the tub. As Mac recounted, she had been clumsy and slipped, hitting her head as she stepped into her nightly bath. The week had just begun, but KC feared another Friday approaching too quickly for his taste. The past four Fridays, a life had been claimed. Until now, the only linking factor had been the roses. KC would bet, had he dug up Lee’s ex-wife, he’d find the telling flowers, sitting in a vase somewhere within her home. Grasping the hand radio, he called the dispatcher. “This is Detective Tanner. I need a home address of the former Mrs. Lee Burton.” “You have a first name on her, Detective?” the dispatcher asked. The radio squawked, then KC returned, “No, but see if you can’t dig this one up. He’s an ex-deputy.” “Will do. Give me a few.” Moments later, the dispatcher came up with Renee Burton’s address and phone number. Lucky for KC, she lived within a few miles of his current location. He and Mac had decided not to formally inform the woman her ex-husband had been killed; after all, the couple had been separated for nearly fifteen years. She could have read about it in tomorrow’s paper with the rest of the county. He now had a reason for visiting. He needed to see if the telltale flowers had been delivered. Nine in the evening wasn’t exactly calling hours—he had been lucky to catch the library before they closed—but call it curiosity, KC had to know. He decided to go this one alone. The last thing he needed was Shar MacArthur tagging along. He wasn’t sure he could endure her presence, not after the night they spent and his untimely confession. Come morning, she’d likely be angrier than a bull in a bullfight that she hadn’t been invited along. After all, she’d remind him that she was the county’s victim advocate. 223

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But at this point, KC didn’t give a damn. He’d rather take her wrath than her company. He didn’t want to come within one hundred yards of the woman, let alone the same room. His emotions just couldn’t take it. On one hand he wanted to throttle her for walking out on him when he had finally gotten the balls to tell her his secret. On the other, he wanted nothing more than to slide between her luscious thighs and drive home until she begged him to stop. Although, “stop” had never come once to her lips the night before. She had proved as insatiable as he. KC pulled into the drive of a small apartment complex, which sat just outside of Pine Knot corporation limits. He jumped from the cab of his Blazer and walked to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sheriff’s red truck hidden partially by the corner of the building and a large evergreen. What the hell was Mac doing here? It was a far cry from General Lee’s. KC rapped his knuckles against the steel door. Shuffling came from within as whispers filtered into the night. Finally, the door opened. Renee Burton, dressed in nothing more than a silky bathrobe, answered the call, looking a bit disheveled as though she had just crawled out of bed. KC removed his hat. “Am I interrupting something, ma’am?” She eyed him carefully. “I was just about to go to bed.” “No offense, ma’am, but it looks as if you just crawled out of it.” Without waiting for the invite, KC pushed past her, hearing her answering sputters to his trespassing. He walked to what appeared an opened bedroom door. He flicked on the light and caught Mac pulling his boxer shorts over his thick thighs. “For crying out loud, KC, ain’t you got any better sense?” Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I was about to ask you the very same thing.” 224

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CHAPTER 21

Shar sat at her desk, stewing about the previous day. Things had gone from bad to worse. After KC’s surprise confession, she had gone home, scrubbed in the shower, hoping to rid herself of KC’s smell, to no avail, then went to work. The only good thing that had happened was Mac and KC had been busy with a new crime scene, keeping her from having to deal with either of them. She made her usual visits and checked on several clients, then came back to the office and prepared to head for home when Sidney Kurtz showed up, showering her with crimson-colored roses, a dozen of them. Although she had made it perfectly clear she did not want to see him again, he continued to pursue her with a vengeance. She received flowers, cards, and phone calls. To date, Shar had kept his relentless pursuit to herself, afraid to tell anyone. After all, she had brought this on herself. But his recent actions had become too close to stalking for comfort. If need be, she would have a restraining order put on him if he didn’t leave her alone. Not to 225

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mention what KC and Mac would likely do to him. After getting rid of Sidney and heading home, Shar found a message from Mac informing her it was going to be another late night. KC and Mac had visited the ex-wife of Lee Burton and told her of the ex-husband’s demise, which had been the topper for the day. KC hadn’t even bothered to invite her along. She, the county’s victim’s advocate, had to sit that one out because KC more than likely didn’t want to be in the same room with her. But if she were to be totally honest with herself, after KC’s confession, she really hadn’t wanted to be near him either. The wounds were too fresh, the cuts too deep. Just thinking about KC and her mother brought another wave of tears rolling down her face. Shar had one of two choices: forgive KC for his mistake, or move on and forget both the night they shared in KC’s bed or the day in the woods. Shar snatched a tissue from the box on her desk when the phone rang, startling her. When the receptionist didn’t answer on the second ring, Shar picked it up. “Hello?” No one answered. She nearly dropped the phone as her body set to trembling, remembering the first call. “Is anyone there?” Her voice cracked in mid-question. “Roses are red, violets are blue—” Her brow creased. “Pardon me?” “I had your mother, now I’ll have you.” Shar slammed the receiver on the cradle. Ice trickled through her veins as she rubbed her hands down her arms to warm herself. She wished to go to KC with this, tell him she received another prank call. Instead, sleeping with him had complicated matters. With the way things stood, Shar couldn’t bring herself to enlist his help, even if he was the only other person who knew about the first prank. Her gaze locked on the receiver as though she expected it to ring again. Her heart hammered in her ears. 226

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A knock on her door sent her jumping from her chair. “I’m sorry.” A young gentleman chuckled. He wasn’t very old. Possibly eighteen, working his way through college by doing odd summer jobs. His hair had been dyed blond, having dark roots beneath, and had been gelled and spiked on top. He wore a small gold hoop in each ear. He held out a dozen red roses. “I didn’t mean to startle you. A delivery for Sharalee MacArthur. You are her? The receptionist said I could find you back here.” Shar groaned as she eyed the other dozen still sitting on the corner of her desk. “Yes, I’m Sharalee.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t he ever give up?” The young man’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know who you are talking about, ma’am. Sorry. I just deliver them.” “Doesn’t matter. But I would bet it’s the same man who sent me these yesterday.” Her hand indicated the other roses. The dyed-blonde shrugged, handed her the vase, then held out his hand. Shar dug for a few dollars from her purse, handing them to the young gentleman. He thanked her and quickly left. Setting the crystal vase on the corner of her desk, opposite the first dozen flowers, she grasped the white envelope and card, opening it. Two bodies now entwined as one. We were meant to be. Yours for now and always, Kevin Charles Tanner. Shar couldn’t help the smile that crept up her face. She had been furious at KC, but was it really worth losing him? Prank phone call quickly forgotten, Shar grasped the receiver and punched the sheriff’s number onto the keypad of the base. “McCreary County Sheriff’s Office.” “Hi, Fran, it’s Shar.” “I’m sorry, hon—you just missed your father by about five minutes. Should I tell him to call?” “Actually, I called to talk to KC. Is he in?” 227

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“Sure, let me patch you through.” The phone rang again before KC’s tone smoothed over her, warming her from head to toe. “Detective Tanner.” A lump lodged itself in her throat as tears welled in eyes again and kept her from uttering a word. “Hello?” “KC,” Shar managed to choke out. “Is something wrong, Shar?” She could hear the concern in his voice. “Yes and no.” “You want to tell me about it? I’m busy at the moment, but I can be there in a half hour. Can it wait?” “Yes.” “All right, I’ll see you then.” Shar hung up, feeling the fool. She hadn’t been able to utter a word of thanks for the flowers without blubbering like a idiot. She had thirty minutes to calm her nerves and prepare herself. Try as she might, she could never hate KC, even if he had slept with her mother and tarnished the image she had always kept in her mind: a three-year-old child who lost the only mother she had ever had. Although Shar had never really known her mother, her father had always filled in the missing details. Except for an important one—that she had been unfaithful with a seventeen-year-old boy. * * * KC finished his reports and headed to the Department of Human Services where Shar’s office was located. He couldn’t help but wonder what had her on the verge of tears. Surely, she wasn’t rehashing yesterday’s events. He needed a reminder of their parting conversation like he needed a hole in the head. With any luck, maybe what she had in mind was about the case and not on his lack of morals. Pulling up to the curb in front of the glass and brick structure, KC’s stomach knotted. He hadn’t realized how much seeing her again 228

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unnerved him. Jump into a crime scene the likes he had seen as of late and he had nerves of steel. Put him in front of a woman for whom he cared deeply, though loath to admit as much, and he acted like a schoolboy on a first date. Seeing the receptionist on her way out, he held the door open for her. “Thanks, Detective,” she acknowledged. “Shar’s in her office. Everyone else has gone to lunch. I trust you know the way.” “Sure do. Thanks,” he returned, then walked through the outer room and down the long hall to her office. He stood unnoticed in the doorway as she leafed through several papers on the desk. Her auburn curls looked as though they had been thoroughly mussed by someone’s fingers, giving her that fresh-out-of-bed look. He wished it had been his bed. Her pale skin seemed whiter than normal and her hands appeared to have a slight tremor. Two large bouquets of roses sat on opposite corners, causing a pang of jealousy to grip his gut. He didn’t like the notion of being possessive, nor the obvious link to his case, since these roses were of the same variety. She tucked one side of her hair behind her ear before glancing up. Her green gaze widened. “KC.” He stepped into the room, took his Stetson from his head and tossed it on a nearby chair. He ran his fingers through his hair in more of a nervous gesture than to make semblance of it. “You needed to see me?” She used her palms to smooth down her short, turquoise skirt, then crossed her legs. “I think I owe you an apology.” KC didn’t know what to say. Although his heart warmed at the admission, he still approached with caution. What had brought on the sudden change of heart? “I should have told you earlier,” he acknowledged. “Maybe had I had better timing…” Shar stood and walked around the desk, crossing her arms beneath 229

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her breasts. She leaned her hip against the cherry wood. “You could have, but I’m not sure there would have been a better time. It’s not everyday you have to deal with the fact that the man you are sleeping with just happened to have slept with your mother as well.” “It was a long time ago, Shar. I was young and stupid.” She traced his jaw, her small finger soft against his coarse stubble. “Had it been anyone else, other than my mother, I’m sure I would have understood. As it was, it was a bit hard to digest.” “I’m sure it was. Does that mean you’re forgiving me?” “There was never anything to forgive. I needed to deal with the truth about my mother in my own way. She evidently wasn’t faithful to my father. I’m not so sure I have completely dealt with that yet. But after the flowers—” “Who sent them?” Shar glanced queerly at him. “That bouquet is from Sidney.” KC left out a humph. “If he so much as touches you—” “Please, KC—I’m dealing with him. I think he’s getting the idea that there is no hope. But your flowers—” “Mine?” “The other dozen came from you…the card.” She paused. “You didn’t send me the roses?” “The only flower shop I’ve been to in the last couple of days is Sharon’s Boutique and Florist and that was to validate the delivery of flowers we found at Renee Burton’s.” “You didn’t call them in?” His face heated, suddenly wishing he had the insight to do so. He could see in her eyes how much the gesture would have meant. “Sorry, Shar, they’re not from me.” He grasped and read the white card from the plastic holder, then glanced back Shar. “I wish I could say I sent this.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. He pulled her within his embrace. 230

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She half-heartedly tried to push him away before giving into the comfort he offered and wrapped her arms around his waist. “It says the roses came from Sunshine Flowers. That’s here in Whitley City. I’ll call and check on who they were billed to. Although, I’m betting they’ll be billed to me.” What he didn’t say was the fact the roses looked to be of the Black Magic variety. Lucky for Shar it was a Tuesday, and not a Friday. She tilted her head to look at him. “Don’t you know what this means?” He downplayed their delivery. He didn’t want Shar thinking what was in the back of his mind—that she might be the killer’s next target. “What? That I’m an idiot and should have thought to send the flowers myself? That much is apparent.” She slapped his chest and pulled from his embrace. “No, KC, think about it. The card mentions ‘two bodies now entwined.’ Only you and I know that we made love. Did you tell anyone about it?” KC shook his head, then thoughtfully rubbed his jaw. Shar had a point. “Not a soul. I’d have no reason to.” “You think someone saw us in the woods?” He couldn’t help think about how killers often revisit the crime scene to relive the fantasy of the kill. “It’s possible. Although, I think we would have heard something.” “What about at your house?” “My cabin is in the middle of nowhere. Besides, Zappa would have heard them.” “Your windows were wide open, KC.” Her face reddened. “Anyone sporting a pair of binoculars—” “I don’t know, Shar. I think it’s a bit of a stretch that we made love in my cabin while someone stood outside watching.” “Is it?” KC thought about the idea, looking at the gray carpeting. In actuality it was plausible, but again he didn’t tell Shar as much. Maybe 231

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Sidney Kurtz had taken to spying on them. It wouldn’t be the first time the little prick sent her Black Magic roses. But why send them in KC’s name? “There’s something else,” she said. “I got another phone call.” “What?” His gaze snapped back to hers. “When? Why the hell didn’t you call the sheriff’s office immediately? Maybe we could have traced the call.” “To be honest, I forgot. Right after the call, your—I mean, the roses arrived.” Heat traveled up his neck and warmed his face. The roses had meant so much to Shar that she had temporarily forgotten the phone call. Tamping down his discomfiture, he asked, “What did the caller say this time?” It was Shar’s turn to look away. Turning her back, she walked to the window and glanced out, her arms hugging her middle. “Roses are red, violets are blue. I had your mother, now I’ll have you.” “Shit! Was it the same voice as the last call?” “I couldn’t say for sure, but I think so.” “It sounds to me like the same prank caller. What he said is too close along the same line as the last call. This person has to be old enough to have known your mother, and by the sounds of it, have had sex with her.” Shar spun on her heel. “Like you?” KC groaned, placing a hand over his heart. “Ouch.” “I’m sorry, KC—it was an observation.” “For the sake of argument, I was seventeen. If he was near my age, then the caller must be around thirty-six, thirty-seven, or older.” “I would hope my mother didn’t stoop to the level of boys beneath that age. We’re there many others?” The tears shimmering in her eyes like tiny pools made him want to 232

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lie, protect her. But he knew if she found out he had again been dishonest, forgiveness would come harder the second time around. “There were others, Shar. Several, in fact.” Shar gnawed on her lower lip. “All school age?” “There were some older men in town as well.” “Do you think the same man who called me sent the flowers?” “Possible.” “You don’t think it was Sidney, do you?” He narrowed his gaze. “Why would Sidney send you flowers from me or make obscene phone calls? It doesn’t make sense if you think about it.” “He’s been stalking me.” KC’s ire rose. “How?” “Calling me, stopping by the office, sending cards and flowers. I’ve asked him to stop, but he just keeps pursuing me. He’s starting to scare me and I don’t know what to do about it.” “I do,” KC said as he approached Shar and clasped her biceps. He lightly kissed her cheek. “I’m going to pay Sidney a visit. And he better pray he isn’t the one behind the prank calls and flowers.” Shar shivered. “That would mean he watched us, you and I”—she turned her face as her cheeks glowed red—“have sex.” KC’s grip tightened on her arm, not realizing the strength he used until he saw her wince. He dropped his hold. “The little prick’s day has come.” “Please, KC, don’t hurt him.” “I don’t intend to. But trust me, he won’t be bothering you again. Think of it this way, Shar, if he was watching, he’s already miserable, because he knows you gave to me what he could never get.” “That’s pretty crude, KC.” She scowled. “Get your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart.” He winked. “I was talking about your love.” Her frown turned into a smile. “I did give you that.” 233

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“You sure did, and the sex”—he shrugged—“that wasn’t all that bad either.” “Wasn’t bad?” KC laughed. “Okay, so it was great.” He grabbed his hat and shoved it on his head, then walked out of the office. His mood turned dire. Sidney Kurtz had just better pray his hands weren’t dirty from this deed. * * * When the door to Sidney’s office opened, KC’s fists itched to slug the scrawny bastard in the nose. But he knew, had he acted on impulse, he’d be facing a lawsuit, not to mention suspension from duty. And with his current workload, a little time off was the last thing he needed. He had a killer to catch; the county needed him. “What the hell do you want, Detective?” “Glad to see you, too, Sidney. You got a minute?” Sidney opened the door further and looked at the secretary that had chased KC down the hallway when he had not bothered to stop and ask to see the lawyer. “Bring us some coffee and reschedule my ten o’clock appointment,” he told her. Sidney shut his office door and offered KC a seat. “Not that I am all that happy to be in your company, Detective, but I take it you are here on police business. That would constitute my having to entertain you.” KC sat in a well-crafted, deep burgundy leather chair, stretching his legs in front of him and crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “You must be making pretty good money, Sidney.” “It pays the bills.” “You ever stop to think about the people who are paying your bills? That ever bother your conscience that you are getting crooks off?” “I protect the innocent, Detective Tanner. That’s who I work for. For those who are guilty, I see to it they get a fair trial. Nothing more.” The secretary entered with a silver platter, a matching carafe, and 234

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two china cups. She sat the tray in front of KC, then quickly left without a word. KC helped himself to a cup of java, then leaned back and inhaled the aroma. “Hazelnut.” “Very good, Detective. I would have thought one of your stature would drink only regular coffee.” KC ignored the obvious jab at his character. “Now what can I do for you? I’m sure it isn’t small-talk you are after.” “You are astute. I’ll give you that much.” “You don’t get far in my job without good intuitions.” “I’ll get to the point then. Stay away from Shar MacArthur.” Sidney poured himself a cup, then sat back in his chair and carefully eyed KC. He seemed to have no fear where KC Tanner was concerned. KC planned to change that. “So it’s a personal visit?” “I sure and the hell hope so. You don’t want to be the cause of my other reason for being here. Because then I’d tear you apart with my bare hands and enjoy every minute of it.” Sidney flinched, but ever so slightly. “Is that a threat? Should I be worried?” “I don’t make idle threats, Sidney, so you’d best listen.” “Is that all you’re here to tell me, to stay away from Shar? I suppose next she’ll slap a restraining order against me.” “Does she have cause?” He grinned. “You tell me, Detective. I suspect if she did, one would have already been issued.” “You been sending her flowers and cards?” “A few.” “In my name?” “Excuse me? Why on earth would I do that?” Sidney appeared as though he had been telling the truth. Either that 235

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or he was one helluva good actor. “Shar received flowers today from Sunshine Flowers. Seems they were phoned in and billed to me at the sheriff’s office. You do something like that, Sidney?” He smiled and steepled his fingers in front of him. “No, but obviously someone did. That make you mad, Detective—that you didn’t think to do it yourself?” “This isn’t a joke, Kurtz. Someone is sending people Black Magic roses, and those recipient’s spouses or ex-spouses have all wound up dead.” “If that’s the case, then you have nothing to worry about since Shar has never been married.” Though KC was loath to admit it, Sidney was right. KC had first thought the flowers had meant Shar was a target. But in all the previous cases, the person being named as sender of the flowers wound up dead, not the receiver. That would mean KC, himself had just been named a target. “You got a point, Sidney.” “Of course I do. Now is there anything else?” “You making any obscene phone calls?” “Now to whom would I be doing that? I have better things to do with my time than make prank calls.” “These are not considered pranks.” Sidney shrugged. “Well it certainly hasn’t been me.” “You better hope I don’t find out it was you.” “Why, Detective, are you now going to threaten me with bodily harm? You have a job to do and threatening lawyers isn’t in your job description.” KC stood. “Is striking innocent women when they turn you down in yours?” Sidney leveled his gaze with KC’s. The prick had balls. “You lay a hand on her again, Sidney, the hell with my job. I’ll kick 236

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your balls up between your ass. You won’t be screwing anyone for a good long time.” Before he turned and left the room, KC saw the tinge of fear in Sidney’s eyes. He knew Sidney hadn’t doubted KC would carry through with his threat. Hopefully, Shar had just seen the last of the little prick.

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CHAPTER 22

“Hello, Father.” He took a few steps back, stunned as he stared into the familiar eyes, eyes he hadn’t seen in some twenty years, eyes of a youth now all grown. The visitor had become a stout man, looking much like him in his younger days. Normally, he would have been proud to call him son, but not after the betrayal. Even after twenty years the wounds ran deep. Only his blood-ties kept him from adding him to the list of people marked for revenge. He gave the younger man his back. “What the hell do you want?” “To see you. It’s been a long time, twenty years to be exact.” The man chuckled menacingly. Under normal circumstances, he would have done his father proud. “Not happy to see me, Father? I would have thought otherwise. Don’t fathers normally look forward to their sons’ return?” He whirled on the heel of his soft shoe. His face turned to stone as he clenched his jaw. “And sons do not betray their fathers.” 238

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The younger man laughed again; his evil eyes twinkled in misplaced humor. “I betrayed you? For what? A slut? She slept with half the county. You were living a facade. You still are. Look at you, old man, still pining away for a woman you’ll never have. Let me tell you, dear Father—she wasn’t worth it. Her thighs were so well-used that a boy of fifteen nearly fell in. I should have strapped a two-by-four to my ass.” He struck the younger man, lightning quick. The sound of his palm contacting the man’s cheek cracked the silence. “Get out and I’ll pretend I never saw you.” The man rubbed his red cheek, the grin still present upon his face. “Or what? Will you add me to the list of revenge? You are a madman.” “At least I am honest. I seek justice for those who wronged my dear, sweet Alison. You, boy, are lucky I didn’t seek revenge on you.” “You might as well have.” The man raised his hands heavenward. “You never acknowledged I existed. Not even when I came to you at the age of fifteen. My mother told me of the great father you were, told me stories of how brave and noble you were. That is, until I found you. You lived mere miles away and never once did you come to see me.” “Your mother was a slut.” The man’s eyes glowed unnaturally. “Touché. My mother slept with her share. But at least she was honest about it. What of your dear Alison? Was she any more of a perfect woman when she took boys of my age between her spread thighs?” “You lie.” A brow raised. “Do I? You think I am the only one she took to her bed? Ask the town, for crying out loud. Though she slept with some of the menfolk, it turned out she liked the little boys at school instead. Rumor had it she liked to mold and teach them.” “Shut up!” He raised his hands to his ears, not wanting to hear another word. His ire burned and his fingers itched to wrap them around the throat 239

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of his own flesh and blood. Stealing the life from him would be much better than the night he gave him life. His mother had been a tramp, willing to take his seed and have it take root. Damn his sinful hide for bowing to temptation and being unfaithful to his one true love, Alison. The man chuckled. “Your face is turning red, Father. You ought to be more careful—you’ll have a heart attack. And then who would be here to finish your revenge.” “My revenge is nearly finished. Besides, how do you know I am responsible for anything? Where is your proof?” “Who else but you had reason to torture each of those men?” “How would you know? You’re nothing but a spineless fool.” “It’s amazing the things mothers tell their sons.” “Your mother didn’t know me well enough—” The man accusingly jabbed a finger at him. “My mother knew where your heart was. But she was foolish enough to love you anyway. She had hoped you would come back when your Alison died. But no— instead you allowed the hate to fester for twenty years. Then, when the past was nothing but a distant memory, you start making them pay. Enough time had passed so that no one would ever make the connection to you. Pretty intelligent, I might add.” “Even if I admit you are right, it’s nearly over.” “I thought you might say that. After all, there were only four that night.” “What’s your point? What purpose does your visit serve?” “Because I want you to add one more to your list.” He roared in laughter, then wiped the wetness from his eyes. “Why should I?” “Because the man I speak of sampled your dear sweet Alison as I did.” “You are still alive to tell the tale. Although I should kill you here and now.” The man rolled his eyes. “Come on, old man—follow along. Must I 240

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spell it all out for you? I am still alive because I am your flesh and blood. The other—well, he was just a randy schoolboy that couldn’t seem to get enough of Mrs. MacArthur.” Raising a brow, he asked, “And that makes you any better? It sounds as if you just described yourself.” The younger man shrugged. “Maybe. But now this same randy dog is doing Alison’s daughter.” “And this bothers you? What’s your stake in all of this.” “I’ve sort of taking a liking to her. I kept my eyes on her over the years. She was pure—a good girl, not at all like her mother.” He stared at his cuticles and pursed his lips. “Now she’s been sullied. Someone has to pay for that.” “And exactly how do you intend to collect payment?” “As I said, I want you to add one more name to your list of revenge.” “You can’t be serious? If you want him dead so badly, do it yourself. He’s done nothing to me.” The man pointed to the ceiling. “But he did. I told you—he sampled the mother, your dear sweet Alison—now he samples the daughter.” “He was a foolish schoolboy, nothing more—just as you were.” “True, and point taken. But now he’s a man and should be held accountable for his actions.” “And you think I should kill him? What if I refuse?” “The way I have it figured, after four murders, what’s a few more— right? But should you refuse, I’ll have to go to the proper authorities and tell them what I know about you.” He chuckled. Surely only one so evil and astute would come from his loins. “And what proof do you offer?” The man reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a few snapshots. “Duplicates, so don’t worry about marring them.” He looked down at the subject. They looked to be crime-scene photos. The only difference, they were action shots of the crime in 241

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progress. One depicted him tying George Stanton to the homemade cross, another of him cutting off Reese Walker’s arm. “You only have pictures of two of the scenes.” “The evidence alone will tie you to all four. Besides, what difference does it make? Do we have a deal?” He thought about it. He could throw his son out on his ass or do this one small favor and be rid of him for life. “If I do this, I want the photos and the negatives.” “They’ll be all yours.” “Secondly, I want you out of my life. I never want to see you again.” The man chuckled, grasped his father’s face in his hands and kissed his cheek. “Ah, Father—it would be my pleasure to never have to see your fat hide again.” “How soon do you want the job done?” “Very—I already took the liberty of sending Sharalee your calling card.” “My card?” “The Black Magic roses.” He thought back to the newspaper article, telling of the flower link. At the time he laughed it off as shoddy police work and nothing more than coincidence. After all, he hadn’t sent the roses. “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about.” “Oh that’s right—that was my added touch. I saw you the day you picked up Kip Lawrence in the bar. I had already taken to following you, curious as to what you were up to. When I saw you bury him deep in the woods, I came up with the idea of sending the widow flowers. After that, it became easy. You had a pattern. You picked up George on the following Friday, so I rushed to the phone and called the florist. Another dozen.” “You little fool—you left a trail. Now they can connect me to all the murders.” 242

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The man’s grin widened in pure evil. “Each wife or ex-wife received the telltale flowers the day of her husband’s disappearance. That’s why I said I didn’t need photos from all the murders. The trail of evidence will connect you to them.” “You sent flowers to Sharalee?” “She received them today. By now, Kevin Charles Tanner will know he’s the next target.” * * * Shar worried her lip, wondering how the confrontation with Sidney was going. She thought KC would do something stupid, and jeopardize his job. Even though Sidney deserved everything KC would likely dish out, Shar didn’t want KC hurt by a possible job suspension as a result. After glancing at the two dozen roses still sitting on her desk, Shar grasped them from the vases and tossed them in the metal trashcan. Her blood ran cold at the thought of who could have possibly sent them. And even though KC hadn’t said as much, Shar worried about the connection to the murder cases. She had seen the flowers sent to each of the widows and heard from KC’s lips about the ones Renee Burton had received. In each case, the person named as the sender had wound up dead. She toyed with the idea of going to her father. Surely, he would know what to do. It wasn’t her life she feared for, but KC’s. Shar rooted through her purse, scrambling for her keys. She had to find Mac before it was too late. “Ms. MacArthur?” Shar nearly jumped out of her skin. She whirled around to see Garrett standing at the office door. She giggled in her nervousness and placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart. “You scared me half to death.” “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Shar stood nearly five-foot-eight, making Garrett a couple of inches shorter. His shoulders were broad, as it seemed muscle packed better on 243

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smaller frames than larger ones. His eyes were a deep brown, his hair a medium blonde. “Please, don’t apologize, Garrett. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be there.” “You on your way out?” he asked, indicating the keys dangling from her fingers. Shar glanced at her hand. “I need to look up my father. Is there something you needed?” “No.” He vigorously shook his head. “I just wanted to give you today’s mail, is all.” He flipped through several envelopes, then handed her a small stack. “Busy day for you.” Shar glanced at the top missive, then threw the stack on her desk. “I’ll go through them when I get back.” Garrett’s eyes traveled to the waste basket of roses. “You don’t like flowers?” Shar’s gaze followed his. “I do if they come from the right recipient. You have a special lady friend, Garrett?” His face lit up. “Sure I do.” Reaching into the basket, Shar clasped the two-dozen roses, stuck them back into one of the vases and handed them to Garrett. “Then give her these. I’m sure she’ll enjoy them much more than I.” Garrett brought the fragrant bouquet to his nose. “Thank you, Ms. MacArthur. That’s mighty generous of you.” Shar winked. “Just don’t tell her where you got them,” she said, then ushered him from her office and locked the door behind her. Moments later she pulled up to the sheriff’s office, seeing Mac’s truck parked out front. “Hi, Fran,” she acknowledged as she walked toward his office. “Is he in?” “Sure is, hon. Go on in—he’s by himself.” Shar opened the door with the words Sheriff Mike MacArthur painted in black across the window. A smile lit his face as he waved her 244

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in, then gave her a bear hug when she got close enough. “My, what a pleasure. What brings you by in the middle of the afternoon?” “I wish I could say it’s a social call, Daddy. I’m worried about KC.” Mac indicated that she take her seat; he followed suit. “Now what’s this about KC?” “It’s this case he’s been working on.” “What about it, sweetie? I know he’s been working crazy hours, but we have to catch the killer. The more hours between the deaths, the colder the cases get. We’re both working against the clock on this one.” “I know, Daddy. But that’s not what has me worried.” Her father leaned back in the chair, giving her his full attention. Mac had always been a large, barrel-chested man. In his younger days, he would be considered lethal to some of the most hardened criminals. No one messed with Mac, and Shar had always been proud of him. “What is it?” “I’m afraid KC might be the killer’s next target.” Mac leaned forward. “Can you give me a hint as to why you feel this way?” Shar plucked at an imaginary piece of lint on her sweater, debating exactly how much she could tell him without giving all the specifics. Namely that she had taken to sleeping with KC. Finally, she looked her father squarely in the eye. “You know those red roses all the widows and ex-wives seem to be getting?” Mac nodded. “I received a dozen today. I checked it out, called the florist and they were Black Magic roses—just like all the others.” His face reddened. “And I suppose the order was phoned in and there was no way of validating the identity of the sender.” “Exactly.” Mac sat back in his chair and rubbed his jaw. “I think we need to put you in protective custody. I can’t have anything happening to my 245

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little girl.” “But, Daddy, it isn’t me I’m worried about.” “What?” he roared, sounding much like a papa bear protecting his cub. “We have to take this threat against your life seriously!” “Think about it. It wasn’t the receivers of the flowers that were killed—” “It was the supposed sender’s that were,” he finished for her. “So who did the card name?” “KC.” They both stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Mac spoke up. “Why would KC send you flowers?” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she fought the desire to tell her father everything, to be open and honest with him as she had her entire life. Without Shar having a mother, he had been her whole world. But she needed to protect KC from her father’s wrath, so she skirted the issue. “You’re forgetting he wasn’t the one who sent them.” As though he knew there was more to the story than she was telling, he rubbed his jaw, the entire time not taking his gaze from her. If she could have crawled beneath her chair and gotten away with it, she would have. “What did the card say?” Her face heated as she stumbled for an answer. “Something about…umm…well, I don’t remember exactly.” “Did you keep it? It’s evidence.” What had she been thinking? Of course it was, and how would she ever explain this one. “I threw it away,” she lied. His brow crinkled. “Threw it away? Shar MacArthur, you’ve been around the sheriff’s office enough to know that everything is evidence!” The card lay tucked away in her purse, but she wasn’t about to show it to her father. How could she and not tell him that they had been 246

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sleeping together. She glanced at her feet. “I’m sorry.” “That’s not enough, Shar—I want you to go back to the garbage where you threw it away and bring it to me. Then I’m going to page KC and have him get his ass back to the office.” Her gaze snapped up. “You can’t tell him I told you.” “Why? Dammit, Shar, if KC is in some kind of trouble, he has a right to know.” “But if he finds out I came to you with it—” “He knows about the flowers?” “Of course, he does. I thanked him for them.” KC walked in the door, startling them both. “You thanked me for what?” Mac stood and adjusted his trousers. “You mind telling me, KC, why Shar would be getting roses from you?”

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CHAPTER 23

KC glanced from Mac to Shar, wondering just what the hell the two had been talking about, and exactly how much of his relationship with Shar she had shared with Mac. He took off his hat, dusted it against his thigh, then tossed it on the coat rack by the door. “I think you’re mistaken, Mac. I didn’t send your daughter any flowers.” Mac carefully eyed KC then began rooting through his desk. He opened the top drawer, not finding what he wanted, then began searching each of the other drawers, finally slamming the last one closed with a loud clack. “Damn it all to hell.” KC raised a brow. “Missing something, Mac?” “Yeah, my extra pouch of Red Man. I always keep one in my desk.” “You seem to be missing a lot as of late,” KC said, thinking of the still-missing St. Christopher medal, the badge, and the pouch of Red Man in the woods. 248

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With his rising suspicions, KC knew he had to check out all possible angles of the case. His next plan of action would be to get hairs from Mac and have them compared to those found at the crime scene in Reese’s hand. Although KC still wasn’t entirely sure Mac was indeed a viable suspect, he needed to examine all the facts. Too many coincidences had popped up for KC to be comfortable. Mac sent KC a scathing glare, then stood and began rifling through filing cabinets and coat pockets. “I know that pouch has to be here somewhere.” At least with Mac’s mind on the missing tobacco, it had given KC time to come up with an excuse as to why he might have sent Shar flowers. He certainly couldn’t tell Mac it was because his daughter was an undeniably heavenly lay, and at this very moment, because of her exposed thigh, he couldn’t help his thoughts as they drifted to the carnal nature. The slit on her skirt traveled nearly to her panty line. At least she had resumed her old style of dressing, which KC preferred over the prim and proper one she had adopted. Her shirt gapped just enough to allow him a healthy peek at the pale flesh rising just above the line of her lace brassiere. His mouth went as dry as the barren desert while filing cabinet drawers slammed and a few colorful oaths came from the sheriff’s mouth. Shar glanced at KC, then looked to where his line of vision had strayed. She smiled and carefully patted her shirt closed. KC winked at her and smiled. “You’re lucky Mac’s in the office,” he whispered. Shar giggled. “What was that?” Mac asked as he turned, accepting defeat. There was no Red Man hidden anywhere. “I was saying I didn’t think there was any tobacco in the office, Mac.” “Tell me about it,” he grumbled. “Now where were we? Oh, yes— the flowers. Why would someone think to send the flowers to Shar in 249

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your name, KC? In all the earlier cases, the flowers went to a spouse or ex-spouse. Why would they send them to Shar? Why not send them to Kate if it’s you they’re after? After all, she’s your—well—was your girlfriend.” KC cleared his throat. “Maybe they got the wrong impression about Shar and I. With all of the cases lately, we’ve been spending a lot of time together.” “You have been,” Mac agreed. “But what we have here is a problem. One big problem. I think this SOB is going to come after you and you don’t have much time to worry about it. In the past, the flowers always arrived on Fridays, the supposed sender always disappeared the same day. That gives us less than twenty-four hours. You think we should put you in some sort of protective custody?” KC laughed. “I can take care of myself, Mac. Besides, they all disappeared on a Friday as well. That could mean I have three days.” Mac sat back, nodding slowly. “You’re right. But regardless, it’s not much time. I just don’t get it, though. Why come after you?” KC knew the answer already, but wasn’t about to enlighten the sheriff. It was simple—every man that had disappeared and was killed, had connections to Alison MacArthur. Either Mac already knew about KC’s connection, if he was indeed the perpetrator, which would also mean he already knew about Shar and him, or someone was setting Mac up. He prayed it was the latter. The last thing KC could fathom was Mac being guilty of murder. “I don’t have a clue why the killer would come after me. Maybe because I’m the detective on the case.” “I still think we ought to put Shar in protective custody,” Mac said. “I don’t trust this asshole. What if he changes on us, knowing we will suspect the next target is KC, when all along he was coming after Shar. We can’t afford to be too careless.” “I’ll be fine, Daddy.” Mac shook his finger at her. “Now you look here, no arguments. I’ll 250

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send you home with one of the deputies—” Shar sat straighter. “I have a better idea. I’ll just ride around with KC.” “No!” Mac and KC shouted in unison. She clenched her jaw and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, opening her shirt again, affording KC another good view. He groaned. The exact reason she couldn’t shadow KC. Hell, he’d get no work done. “I think it’s a great idea.” She punctuated her statement with a smile. KC shook his head. “If I’m in danger, that puts you in danger. No good.” Mac put in his two cents. “I have to agree with KC on this one, sweetheart. I don’t want you in the hands of this madman.” “Look at it this way, Daddy. The killer always strikes when his intended victim is alone.” She paused, as though waiting for an argument. When no one objected, she continued. “If I’m with KC twenty-four/seven, then the killer can’t possibly take him.” “You have a point,” Mac agreed, nodding slowly. “Mac,” KC protested. His whole body tensed. There was no way he could spend twenty-four hours a day with Shar. Hell, sitting this close in proximity, it was all he could do to keep his mind on the job and not those long, thin legs wrapped around his waist. “Dammit, Mac—if I’m in jeopardy, that will put Shar at risk. I’m not willing to do that.” Mac rubbed his jaw. “Sorry, KC. I have to do it. I have complete confidence you will keep my little girl safe. There is no one on the force I trust more than you. Besides, right now we don’t the manpower to put one deputy with you and one with Shar. We only have five of us that work the day shift.” KC thought about all of the counseling sessions with Pastor Jackson, and his stern warnings about the sins of the flesh. Things had just become very complicated. Unfortunately, because of KC’s own 251

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weakness. No good was going to come of this. * * * “Just think of all the time we can spend together and not worry about getting caught,” Shar crooned from beside him in the SUV. “It isn’t all that bad.” KC glared at her. His ire itched its way up his spine. What the hell did the sheriff want? Putting Shar and KC together could be likened to laying a piece of steak in front of a ravenous lion. The last thing he needed was her playing shadow. “The hell it isn’t, Shar. I’m working on a case and I can’t very well do my job with you here.” “Why, KC? I can help.” KC rolled his eyes heavenward. Surely, she had to be aware of her affect on him. There was no way in hell he would be able to keep his mind on the job with her sitting so close. It already felt as though the temperature had gone up twenty degrees. KC had to think about the case, as time seemed to be ticking away. He needed new leads and fast. A plan formulated in his mind. “I’m taking you home.” “What for?” she squealed. “You’ll need to get some spare clothes if you’re going to stay with me.” Shar nearly jumped from her seat in pure delectation. She was loving this. Of course, he would certainly benefit from it as well. But for now, he had to concentrate on the job at hand. Moments later, they pulled into the stone drive in front of Mac’s home. She nearly ran to the house. KC almost laughed. She looked like a schoolgirl getting ready for her first over-niter. He wondered what Mac would think when he didn’t bring his little girl home. Hell, Mac had agreed twenty-four/seven. And being the typical man KC was, he intended on taking advantage of every minute of it. He couldn’t work on the case around the clock. So in his spare hours, he’d enjoy Shar’s 252

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company, immensely. Shar unlocked the door and headed for the second floor to grab her things. KC used the opportunity to slip into Mac’s bedroom. He did a quick glance for what he had been hoping to find. The dark room carried a manly feel with dark greens and russet accents. Though a man lived within the folds, the room seemed neat and tidy, not like Mac at all. Either Shar played housekeeper or Mac hired one. A small hairbrush lay on the walnut dresser. A freestanding mirror stood directly beside it. KC grabbed the brush, pulled several hairs from it, and deposited them within a plastic bag. Just as he shoved the bag into his pocket, Shar asked, startling him, “What are you doing in Daddy’s room?” KC turned, his mind looking for any excuse. “I, uh…was trying to find a Red Man pouch. I thought I’d take it back to Mac since he seems to be out.” Shar smiled, seeming to accept his lame excuse. “Daddy keeps it in the drawer beside his recliner,” she said then trotted back into the living room. Shar produced the white and brown pouch as he exited the bedroom. “You really think he’ll need it?” “You’re right, probably not. He could stand to go a day without chewing. You got everything?” She tossed the Red Man back to the stand and held out her small overnight bag. “Clothes and makeup.” KC pulled her within his arms and briefly kissed her. “You, my dear, do not require makeup.” She giggled and sidled closer. Her abdomen rested against his groin. “You know…we have all day. Mac won’t be home until late tonight.” “The exact reason I didn’t want you along during the day.” He lightly slapped her on the backside, then released her. “I have a case to solve, and it isn’t going to get done with your legs wrapped around my waist, no matter how tempting the offer.” 253

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Shar smiled, one full of promises unfulfilled. “I’ll make it worth your while.” KC considered his options: he could either spend the next hour rolling around Shar’s bed, satisfying his animal instincts, or get the hairs in his pocket to the lab for processing. Using better judgment, he opted for the second choice. “Not that I don’t believe you, sweetheart, but I do have a job to do. Let’s go.” * * * Billy Thunder glanced up from his microscope and smiled as KC and Shar entered the large, sterile room. His white teeth flashed brightly against his dark native skin. His long black braid hung to his waist, standing out in stark contrast to his white lab coat. He had been the outcast in school, a rebel. And while all the boys treated him like a pariah, the girls flocked to him. KC couldn’t think of one girl he had graduated with that hadn’t been in love with the enigma. KC had befriended Billy when they moved into the same neighborhood during their high school years. But being a loner and social misfit himself, KC held no clout to help Billy be accepted by their peers. Instead, they hung together on the weekends, until Billy’s popularity with the women took over and he found little time to hang with KC. Surprising enough, Billy had never gotten married. A refrigeration unit sat to the left of the table where Billy stood, holding several microscopes. A scale, like one might find in a produce department, sat behind him on another table that held various scientific equipment. Billy stepped away from the examining table and approached Shar and KC. His gaze did a sweep up Shar’s legs and landed on her breasts. Just like Billy, KC thought with a chuckle, he had always been a breast man. And admittedly enough, Shar had great breasts. “KC,” Billy greeted, bringing his attention back to KC. He shook KC’s hand, then pulled him in for a brief hug. “Man, it’s been a while. 254

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Mac usually comes in to get the results. He says he keeps you way too busy to send you in here. You been hiding out?” “Not hardly, Billy. You know Sharalee MacArthur?” he asked, placing his hand in the small of her back as he ushered her forward. KC only hoped Shar would still find him attractive after one look at his age-old friend. Billy lightly clasped her hand and took it to his lips. “Mac’s daughter all grown up. And into one beautiful woman, I might add. When did that happen?” Shar blushed slightly. “I need you to do me a favor,” KC said, changing the subject. Billy released his hold on Shar’s hand and braced his fists on his hips. “Name it.” KC pulled the Ziploc from his pocket and handed it to Billy. “I need you to compare these samples to those that were found in the Reese Walker scene.” Billy turned the bag in his hand. “These aren’t marked as evidence.” KC leaned forward as Shar busied herself looking into microscopes. He didn’t want her hearing what he had to say. “I have a suspect I’m not yet willing to name. Too much doesn’t add up. As a matter of fact, I have a few other items of found evidence I haven’t entered yet.” Billy narrowed his dark gaze. “We go way back, KC. You going to tell me who these hairs belong to so I have an idea what you’re getting into?” KC thought about it. Billy had always been known as a man of honor. “I took them from Mac’s hairbrush.” Billy ran a hand down his smooth jawbone. “You’re really stepping in it this time, bro.” “I know—but now you can understand why I want this kept quiet.” “Sure do.” He nodded in Shar’s direction. “What’s with Mac’s daughter on your tail?” “I’ve been assigned to protect her.” KC laughed. “Although, I’m 255

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not quite sure who’s keeping who out of trouble.” Billy’s gaze held Shar’s backside as she bent over, looking into yet another eyepiece. He whistled low. “She’s a looker. I knew Mac had a daughter, but man, I had no idea. Why haven’t I seen her around? I’d love—” “No way, man. Mac would have your hide.” Shar, obviously detecting the two were talking about her, walked to where they stood. As though KC and she had been lovers for years, she put her arm around his waist and leaned into him. “Anything I can’t hear?” Billy laughed. “You’re a sly one, KC. Hell, it isn’t Mac I’d have to worry about, it’s you. How long you two been going out? Last I knew, you were dating some chick from Williamsburg.” “Things weren’t working out.” “I can see that. You are one lucky man, KC. You think to toss this one away, let me know.” “Wait in line, Billy.” Still uncomfortable being seen in public, KC disentangled himself from Shar. “Now about that sample…” “No problem. I’ll check into it for you.” “How soon?” “Go get a bite to eat. By the time you get back, I’ll let you know what I find.” “Thanks, man—I appreciate it.” KC shook Billy’s hand, then escorted Shar from the lab. “Hungry?” Shar grinned wickedly. “Depends on what you’re offering?” “You have a one-track mind, Shar. Not that I’m uninterested—I just have a case to solve.” * * * KC left Shar in the waiting area of the lab. What Billy Thunder had to report, he didn’t want her overhearing. Billy turned at KC’s approached, the look on his face spoke volumes. He handed KC the bag. “You got problems, man.” 256

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“They belong to Mac?” “I can do a DNA test on the strands, but I’m betting they’ll come back a match. The samples of hair from the victim’s hand is consistent with what you brought me. I say they’re a match. I don’t suppose you got those samples legally.” KC scratched the back of his neck. “If you’re asking if Mac volunteered them, the answer is no. Nor did I have a search warrant. I sort of just took them.” “What do you have on him that makes you think he might be the killer?” “I’m not sure he is yet. But if he isn’t, then someone is setting him up.” “What other evidence do you have?” “I found a pouch of chewing tobacco—the exact kind Mac chews— at a scene. And at the last one, I found his badge stuck between the sofa cushions. I, also, have other reasons to believe it could be Mac.” “You have enough to convict?” “Circumstantial—but it’s strong evidence. I mean how else does Mac’s hair wind up in the victim’s hand?” “Excuse me?” Shar asked, her eyes round like saucers. KC was dead meat. How would he ever explain that Mac had become his prime suspect? “That’s what evidence you brought here to have examined? Mac’s hair? You actually think my father could be the killer? You can’t be serious!” She fled the room.

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CHAPTER 24

The ride back to Whitley City had been a very long, stress-charged one. The air had been so thick between them it could have easily been sliced with a knife. Shar had not said a word to KC, and he, fearing what she might say in return, opted to keep his mouth shut as well. The agreement had been to keep Shar in his presence twenty-four/seven, but when she had asked to be dropped off at her office, he hadn’t argued. In fact, he needed the break from her as much as she needed it from him. He needed space to think about the cases. And being in her presence didn’t lend him full use of his mind. She had a way with occupying his thoughts way too much. He had thought, once he slept with her, it would be the opposite. After all, the questions would be answered, the package unwrapped. Instead it was like putting a piece of candy in front of a sugar-toothed kid. He already knew how good it tasted; now he wanted more. KC made Shar promise she wouldn’t leave the office until he arrived a few hours later to pick her up. Their evening together 258

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promised to be an interesting one. Either they would spend the night in opposite rooms, both desiring what neither wanted to admit, or the pull would be too strong for them to deny and they would wind up in bed together. With a slight ache to his gut, KC hoped for the latter. What appeal did a sleepless night have if he laid in his huge bed by himself? After pulling into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office, KC cut the engine and jumped from the cab. Mac’s truck was nowhere to be seen, causing KC to wonder where he was. Once inside, KC approached Fran. “Where’s the sheriff?” She shrugged. “He looked a bit perplexed. We received a call that Kip Lawrence’s car had been found, but that’s not what seemed to be bothering him. The car is being brought in for processing evidence, so I don’t think that’s where he went. Mac said if we needed him, we were to page him. He did say he wouldn’t be gone long.” “They found the car? Great news! As for Mac, I’ll wait on him,” KC said. He entered the small room and shut the door. To his luck, KC had been handed an opportunity, one in which he could search Mac’s office. He had no idea what he might find in the way of clues, but instinct told him some of the answers lie within the walls. Starting in the most obvious place, KC rooted through the desk drawers. Pens, pencils, notepads were all stacked in a neat, orderly fashion. Much like Mac’s house. KC had no idea, even after fifteen years of friendship, how much of a neat freak Mac seemed to be. Going to the next drawer, KC found a couple spare clips for Mac’s gun, a spare 10mm, unlike the 9mm Mac kept on him, and a spare badge. KC kept two badges himself; one he wore on the breast of his jacket, the other he carried in a leather wallet. KC wondered how many Mac owned. He wore one badge on his uniform, one was here in the drawer, and another KC had found stuffed between the cushions at the Burton crime scene. KC closed the drawer and moved to the ones on the left. He pulled 259

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the top drawer, but it held fast. He wondered what Mac would keep in a locked drawer when his gun, bullets, and badge were kept unsecured. After pulling a pocketknife from his pocket, he jimmied the lock and the drawer slid open. A few tattered files lay flat, looking as if they hadn’t been touched in years. KC lifted them from their resting place when an object hidden beneath caught his attention. A plastic Ziploc containing a silver chain and medallion. KC placed the folders on the desk and grasped the plastic bag. The missing St. Christopher medal. The necklace hadn’t been missing after all. KC flipped over the bag and read the inscription on the back. To my darling. Alison. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” KC startled like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He hadn’t expected Mac to walk in the office and he had just been caught with the missing medal. The time for games was over. “I think I should be asking you that question.” KC held the bag up. “Care to explain?” Mac snatched it from his grasp. “I just found it.” KC placed a fist on both hips and planted his feet shoulder width apart, glaring at Mac. “Like hell.” “I don’t like you going through my personal property, KC.” “I’m sure you don’t. You want to share with me what you know about these cases I’ve been busting my ass to get answers on?” “I don’t know any more than you do.” “Mac”—he jabbed a finger at the bag Mac tossed on his desk— “that medal was engraved from Alison, to, I’m assuming, you.” “Assuming?” Mac left out a humph. “Of course it was. Who the hell else would she address as ‘darling’?” “Try half the damn county.” The sheriff’s face reddened. “You might want to watch what you say, boy. That’s my wife you’re speaking of.” KC plopped into one of the chairs and placed his booted heels on 260

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the desk corner. He interlaced his fingers across his chest. “You also want to enlighten me on what you were doing with Renee Burton?” Mac sputtered. “You son of a bitch! That’s none of your damn business.” “Her ex-husband’s dead, Mac—killed. You’re sleeping with her has a lot to do with this case as far as I’m concerned.” “It’s just a coincidence.” “The hell it is.” “I’ve been seeing her for about a year. Way before these murders started.” “I can link every man murdered back to your late wife, Mac. Including Renee’s ex. You want to tell me about your wife being faithful to you? And why the hell does it look like this is all winding up on your muddy doorstep?” Mac paced the area behind his desk. He walked back and forth like a caged animal, waiting to leap on his prey. Finally, he turned to KC. Although he expected to see animosity in Mac’s eyes, KC saw pain instead. “Why don’t we start with what you know about Alison,” Mac said. “I’ll see if I can fill in the blanks.” “Sounds fair. Sharalee—she wasn’t your biological daughter, was she?” “No. Next question.” KC eyed him carefully. He hadn’t quite understood when he had figured out that little bit of information, but it only made sense why George had been accused of adultery. He had been the odd link, as all the other victims had been partners and friends. When he took a long, hard look at pictures of George, he could see a resemblance to Shar, something he never saw when comparing her to Mac. All this time he thought she might have gotten her looks from Alison when indeed they came from her biological father. 261

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“She know?” Mac slowly shook his head. “I never told her. I wasn’t quite sure myself until I heard the rumors. Later, I had myself checked. I was shooting blanks.” “How about George? Did he know?” “I think so, though he never let on. But when Shar would be in his company, he always doted on her. Treated her with special care. Gave her extra candy at the Stop ’n’ Shop, that kind of thing.” “I have to tell you, Mac, this whole case is looking bad against you.” His gaze brightened. “You think I did it?” “I’m not saying you did, but the evidence is stacked.” “What evidence do you have? A stupid medal found at the crime scene?” “That and other things. Can you tell me how that medal might have gotten out there?” Mac scratched his head. “I don’t have clue. That’s why I hid it and told you I lost it. I knew it wouldn’t look good.” “There’s more.” Mac’s brow formed a frown, but he said nothing. “That hair we found clutched in Reese’s hand—it’s a match to yours.” Mac crossed himself. “Dear Mother of God.” “I also found a pouch of Red Man in the woods near Kip’s grave. And the last crime scene—your badge was found between the cushions at Lee Burton’s. Not to mention, Alison is the tie to all four deaths. If it wasn’t you, Mac, can you give me one good reason why someone might be targeting these men? Anything at all I can use? I sure in the hell don’t want to point the finger at you, but right now I don’t have anything else to go on.” Mac sat heavily in his chair, the weight of the implications showing on his face. He rubbed both hands down his cheeks, leaned back his 262

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head, and blew out an unsteady breath. “Damn. The past is coming back to haunt me.” “I got a few hours, Mac. You want to tell me about it?” Mac stared at him, no accusations, just eyes filled with shadows. “Where’s Shar?” “I have Miller watching her. I needed to get work done.” “You mean you needed to search my office.” KC grinned. “Well, that opportunity was handed to me, yes. Now you want to tell me what all this has to do with the past?” Mac pulled out his silver flask, twisted off the cap, and took a healthy swallow. He wiped the back of his mouth with his uniform sleeve. “You aren’t going to believe this.” * * * Shar tapped her long, red-painted nails on her desk surface. She had already allocated most of the work out over the next few weeks, as she knew she would be too distracted to properly do her job and offer the support these people truly needed. The office sat empty with everyone away from their desks, aside from the receptionist who manned the phone. Shar didn’t feel threatened or fear being alone as she spotted Deputy Miller, sitting in his cruiser across the street. KC must have called him to keep an eye on her while he was away. Their car ride from the lab had been strained. Shar could hardly believe KC actually suspected her father of the hideous crimes that had plagued Pine Knot. Obviously, KC did not know her father as well as he claimed. Mac was one of the most honest and hard-working men she knew. Of course, she was prejudiced, him being her father. But Shar had never seen a violent side to his nature. He didn’t have it in him. So how could KC possibly believe Mac could be guilty of something of this magnitude? Truth be told, Mac couldn’t hurt a fly. Instead of using a fly swatter, as most would do, he would catch them in mid-air and release them outdoors. Shar had seen him do this on numerous occasions. She had 263

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rarely seen his temperament flare up. Her father had been blessed with mild manners, very slow to anger. Which brought her back to KC and his twisted way of thinking. Never in a million years could she fathom where he had come up with the cockamamie idea. Her ire still burned at the prospect of KC toying with the notion that Mac might be guilty. Shar’s gaze flitted to the stack of mail Garrett had dropped off earlier. She began leafing through the envelopes, finding little that required her attention. She swore she got more junk mail than she ever got business. She tossed the top few into the waste can unopened and a few to the side to deal with later when her thoughts could remain focused. She opened a few and filed them appropriately, then came to one without a return address. She turned over the envelope. It had been mailed within Whitley City’s corporation limits the day before. Reminded of the one she stuffed in her briefcase a few days ago, she opened the black satchel and retrieved it. The envelopes were identical: number ten in size, self-stick, both mailed within the city limits only days apart. Shar started with the earliest dated one, using her silver letter opener. Pulling out the paper, she carefully unfolded it. In beautifully scripted handwriting done in black ink, the words said, White represents purity, like a sheet of paper without blemishes. You are like that paper. Shar stared at the strange message, wondering what it could possibly mean. She thought about the prank phone calls and wondered if the letter could have anything to do with them. You’re just like you’re mother, one had accused, while the other claimed, Roses are red, violets are blue, I had your mother, now I’ll have you. Both phrases were aimed at her in a negative manner, while the letter seemed positive. She laid it aside and opened the second. The white sheet of paper looked as though it had been dragged through the 264

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dirt, brown blotches smeared the surface, dirtying it. Written in barely illegible red-inked script, the words, Purity that has been sullied, like the pristine white of the paper now dirtied, as are you, obviously seemed a negative statement aimed at her. Shar tossed aside the paper as her hands started to tremble and her eyes stung with unshed tears. Moving a vertical blind to the side, she checked for the black cruiser. It was nowhere in site. Shar jumped to her feet and ran down the hall, her heart drumming in her chest as the taste of fear made her mouth go dry. The receptionist, who was supposed to be at her desk, was also nowhere in site. She had not paged Shar to let her know she was leaving. Shar glanced at the door marked WOMEN. Quietly pushing open the door, Shar knelt and saw no feet beneath the stalls. Her blood raced through her veins as she turned on her heel and scanned the room. Her breathing became shallow. She could barely hear the tick of the wall clock above the roaring in her ears. The hairs at the base of her neck rose. Gooseflesh dotted her skin. Why the hell had she asked KC to drop her off? Now, alone, she had no way of protecting herself. Shar glanced at the large glass door. The lock latch stood vertical, meaning it was unlocked. Carefully, she approached. Grasping the silver bolt, she turned and felt the tension in her muscles ease as it slid into place with a click. She pulled the cords to the window blinds facing the street, they slapped the windowsill with a clack. Shar turned to retreat down the hall and hide within her office. Maybe she could call KC. She hated having to depend on him—hated depending on anyone. But at the moment, fright outweighed her pride. With the door securely locked, she would be safe until KC managed to get there. Unless someone had already entered the office. She scanned the room, glancing at the closed doors and down the long hall. Several doors lined the way to her office. Suddenly, no place seemed safe. 265

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Shar placed her back against the outside wall of the hallway, sliding along, her head going from side to side as she tried to keep her eye on everything at once. Water flushed. Someone occupied the men’s bathroom—the room she hadn’t thought to check. Every employee within the building was female, aside from Garrett. Dear God, let it be him, she thought as her heart beat a heavy thunder. She grasped a pair of scissors from the nearby desk then stood next to the door, her back against the wall, and waited. Her palms sweat, making her grip on the weapon a precarious one. She wiped each hand against her skirt, then held the silver scissors high above her head. Whoever the intruder was, she wouldn’t allow him to take her without a fight. The door creaked as it opened. The scissors began their downward arch just as she recognized the intruder. KC stepped into the room. His gaze traveled to the weapon and he yanked it from her grasp. “What the hell?” he asked, staring queerly at her. “Oh, dear God,” she whispered. “What were you planning to do with these?” he asked, loosely holding them in his palm. “I didn’t know it was you.” Her voice shook as she tried her damnedest to compose herself. She hated to show weakness. “I looked out the window and saw the deputy’s car gone. I guess I panicked. I had no idea you had come back.” “I sent him out in the field.” “You think you could have told me that,” she squealed, “instead of just sending him on his way? You scared me half to death.” He chuckled. “Apparently.” “Where’s Sue?” Shar indicated the empty receptionist desk. “She was getting ready to leave when I arrived. I told her I would let you know. What the hell has you so bugged anyway? Something 266

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happen?” “I have something to show you.” Shar grasped his hand and led him down the hallway. * * * Her quick reversal startled KC. He thought for sure she wanted his blood, would take nothing less when she laid eyes on him again. She had been spitting mad over his accusations concerning her father. Of course, she had meant to do some serious harm with the scissors she had wielded, he thought with a chuckle, still carrying them in his right hand. Good thing his reactions were quicker than hers, or he might be pulling the four-inch blades from his shoulder. He tossed the scissors on her desk when she handed him two pieces of paper: one clean, one smudged with dirt. KC read them both. “What do you make of it?” Shar asked. “Where did you get them?” “They were mailed to me here, no return address.” She shrugged, but her nonchalance didn’t fool KC. He could see the fear in her eyes. “I can take these to the lab. Check for prints. Of course, since we both touched them, ours will have to be compared so they can tell which prints belong to us.” “Do you think it’s a threat against me?” He didn’t want to needlessly worry her, although he had a strong inclination the author of the letters meant her no good. Especially due to the tone of the second letter. “I’m not sure what the words mean, Shar. It’s not like they are specifically directed at you.” “Do you think the author is the same person who called me?” “Did you look at the dates of when these were sent?” Shar’s one brow rose. “Sure. Why?” “Did the first letter come before the first call?” She nodded. “I think so.” “Which probably means that, whoever wrote this, if indeed it’s the 267

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same person that called, thought of you as pure. And if they are indeed the same person, we already know the caller may have knowledge of us sleeping together. That would explain the second letter—the fact that you are sullied.” “Do you think I should worry?” “I hate to say this, Shar, but we need to take every precaution. I’ll have these letters fumed for a latent. Maybe this nut has been in trouble with the law at some time and his prints will come up in AFIS.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “Maybe this is the same man who sent me the flowers, the same man who killed those four men.” “It could be.” Shar glared at him, some of the earlier animosity seeping in. “I thought you were looking at my father as a suspect. Surely he wouldn’t send these things to me.” “I think someone is setting up Mac, Shar.” Her shoulders drooped in released tension. “Did you speak to Daddy about it?” “We argued. There’s a lot you don’t know.” “Then tell me, KC. Help me understand what’s going on. If it involves my father, I have a right to know.” KC thought about all Mac had confided in him, right up to the moment he stormed from the office with no explanation as to where he was going. KC knew Mac was shamed. Hell, his confession had stunned KC into silence. And when Mac received no word of understanding from his best friend, he left. “Some things are just better off left buried, Shar. Trust me on this one—you don’t want to know.” Tears welled in her warm brown eyes. “Please, KC. I need to know what’s going on.” Although Shar was correct, that she had a right to know about her father’s past, KC didn’t want to be the one to tell her. 268

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“We’ll let your father tell you.” Shar grasped her purse. “Let’s go see him.” “I don’t know where he is. He left the office without a word.” “What did you say to him?” she accused, as though laying the fault on his shoulders. “I—” His beeper interrupted him. KC checked the number. “I need to get this.” He grasped the receiver from her desk and dialed the number. “Mac?” he asked when the line connected and Mac answered. “What’s up.” “I know who’s behind the killings. Meet me behind the Stop ’n’ Shop.” “Who?” “Trust me on this one, KC. Just get here quick. I think he knows I figured out his game, and if he finds me before you get here…” Mac let the threat hang. “I’m on my way.” KC looked at Shar. “Let’s go. We have to meet Mac in Pine Knot. He says he can name the killer.”

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CHAPTER 25

Mac waited in the dark alley behind the Stop ’n’ Shop. What the hell was taking KC so long? He checked his watch for the hundredth time. What Mac had learned since leaving the office was nearly unbelievable, the reason he hadn’t told KC on the phone. This news would best be delivered in person. At six-foot-three and two-hundred-and-forty pounds, most feared Mac, not the other way around. Fear had not been a part of his vocabulary, that is until he stared into the cold eyes of madness. This man, who he now knew as the killer, bordered on the edge of sanity. Why hadn’t he recognized him before? Simply, the man had added a lot of extra weight, not to mention facial hair. His appearance had changed drastically. Had he recognized him in the first place, then surely lives could have been spared. There had been only one other person in McCreary County who would want to avenge Alison’s death besides Mac. Nearly twenty years had passed since he had last seen the man. Mac couldn’t blame him—Alison was an easy woman to love. What 270

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had happened was horrible. So horrible that KC couldn’t utter a word after Mac’s telling of it. His only hope was in KC’s understanding. A quick glance around the darkened alley left the hairs at his nape standing on end. Gooseflesh popped to the surface. Although he stood clearly alone, something told him evil lurked in the shadows. “Where the hell are you, KC?” Mac mumbled, tapping a nervous beat with the toe of his boot on the asphalt. The dim streetlights did little to illuminate the alley, but Mac did not want to be found, his justification for picking the alley. No one ever traveled behind the Stop ’n’ Shop. If this maniac found him before KC and he could make the arrest, it would mean the forfeiture of his life. He wouldn’t be given the chance to explain his past to Shar—to make amends. Shar had been his whole life, one reason he never talked about his hideous past, or the reason he never told her that George Stanton had been her biological father. He didn’t want to lose her or the love she so willingly gave. Shar had been the one person in his life to accept his love and return it without conditions. She loved him in spite of his ways. Her mother, Alison, had been nothing but a tramp from the day he married her. His overpowering love for his wife allowed him to turn a blind-eye on her infidelities. But too soon, that love turned to hate. She tainted his belief that true love existed. He stayed with her for his precious daughter, fearing Alison might take Shar away from him. After all, he was not her biological father. For this, Mac endured her faithlessness. But even though Alison had been adulterous, she didn’t deserve her ending. The cost had been too high. It had started out as a simple plan: pay back Alison for every disloyalty. Mac invited deputies Kip Lawrence, Lee Burton, and Councilman Reese Walker to his home—three of his best friends— giving each a turn at Alison. At first he thought the requite would bring him pleasure. After all, she had it coming. 271

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But in the end, he had been the one to suffer. Unable to stop the boys and their fun, he raced from the house and landed on all fours, losing the large quantities of whiskey he had consumed. How the hell had he become such a monster? When he finally rose on shaken knees and Alison’s screams and curses had died on the winds, he slowly walked back into the house. Reese and Kip stood in the living room, both shaking and pale. Mac questioned them, but neither spoke, as though losing their voice. Lee came from the bathroom, a smug smile on his face. “We won’t have to worry about her squealing. I just arranged a little accident,” he said, then turned and saw Mac standing by the door. Mac didn’t have to ask. His wife had been executed in order to keep her mouth shut. In a rage, he flew across the room and tackled Lee to the ground, tightly wrapping his fingers around his throat. It took both Kip and Reese to pull him off. When emotions had calmed and rational thought seeped in, they had a repulsive crime to cover. They called in Sheriff Thomas Morland, knowing that, because of the brotherhood, he would never allow them to be punished. Alison’s death would be ruled accidental. What Mac hadn’t counted on was the fact that Sheriff Morland had carried a torch for his now-late wife. He had been furious. But in the end, he agreed to help the four men in the cover-up, if nothing else, to save his own reputation and untarnished career. Later, Lee and Kip quit the force and left town, Sheriff Morland resigned, and Reese Walker continued on with what seemed little conscience. Years later, Mac became sheriff. Now, Morland was back, had been for two years. Mac passed the man several times, but since his appearance had changed dramatically, Morland hadn’t been recognized. A mistake that cost four lives. After leaving the sheriff’s office following his confession to KC, Mac unknowingly ran into the man. When his eyes finally took in the 272

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familiar characteristics, he tasted fear. Thomas Morland had come back to avenge Alison. Mac scratched his head. How blessed long does it take to get to Pine Knot from Whitley City, for crying out loud? When his gaze traveled to his watch, a glint of light bounced off a shiny steel object just as the lights to KC’s Blazer entered the alley. The steel blade sliced through his throat. Sharp, white-hot pain lent a red haze to his vision as the knife cut through his jugglers. Air rushed through the opening as he grasped the fatal wound and dropped to his knees. Blood poured over his fingers, spraying forth as he fought to draw oxygen. Mac saw the horror on Shar’s face as she jumped from the cab of KC’s SUV. His angel. The only person he had ever loved unconditionally. Now in his death, she’d see the monster he truly was. * * * Shar couldn’t believe her eyes. It was as though she were watching a horror flick and someone other than her father had dropped to his knees grasping his neck. Blood spurted like a crimson fountain as air sprayed the liquid from the cut artery. Time moved in slow motion. Hysteria threatened to engulf her, steal her every movement as she ran to Mac on rubbery legs. She was barely aware of KC as he radioed in, “Sheriff’s down, need ambulance…” then sprinted by her, chasing the unknown phantom. Her world teetered black as she fought to remain conscious. Her father needed her alert and not passed out on the pavement five feet away. She sucked in deep breaths, willing herself to be calm. With great effort, she stayed on her feet. As she reached her father, he sank the rest of the way to the asphalt. Screaming, tears falling unheeded, she ripped her shirt from her body and used it to press against the gaping wound. Mac’s red-covered hands grabbled at her wrists as she stared into his eyes that had already began to glaze over. 273

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“Don’t you dare die,” Shar wailed. “Please don’t leave me, Daddy! Hang on—help is coming.” “Sh…ar,” was his croaked, blood-gurgled response. KC ran from the shadows alone. The implications that he had not caught who did this nearly tore her heart in two. “Dear God,” she pleaded, turning her teary gaze on him. “KC, do something. There’s too much blood.” Grasping the blood-soaked shirt from Shar and continuing to apply pressure and staunch the flow, KC knelt beside Mac’s head. Shar ached to pull her father onto her lap. Blood pooled on the ground, soaked into her jeans. The red liquid seemed everywhere, staining her white bra, covering her flesh, her hair. Her bloodied hands trembled as she smoothed Mac’s hair from his forehead. Her other hand wiped the wetness from her nose. “Hang on, Daddy. The ambulance is coming. You’re going to be just fine. You and me, Daddy. You can’t go without me. We’re all we have.” Mac’s eyes filled with tears, his mouth moved, but no words came forth. “Oh, God, Daddy.” Her voice broke from the sobs. She knew her father would not survive, no matter how much she wished to breath life back into him. His chest rattled. His mouth gaped. “Mac, I need to know—who was it?” KC asked, a tear slipped down his face. Shar couldn’t remember having ever seen KC cry, not even at his own parents’ wake. “She..ri..ff,” he wheezed and coughed. “Yes, Daddy,” Shar stated, assuring him, “you’re the sheriff.” Her world teetered as Mac seemed to lose his touch on reality and sink deeper into the abyss. Mac blinked a few times and looked at KC. “No…not—” Mac weakly squeezed Shar’s hand, then his head rolled to the side, his grip loosened, and his chest ceased its death rattle. 274

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“Oh, God.” Shar stifled back a guttural sob. Her bloodied hand covered her mouth. “Oh, please, no.” She grasped his head and brought it to her chest. She wept, rocking back and forth, the loss nearly too much to bare as her heart lay bleeding in her chest, leaving a mammoth empty hole. Suddenly, she knew what it meant to be alone—truly alone. * * * KC sat back on his haunches, releasing Shar’s soaked shirt as ambulance sirens approached. Too late, he thought, as he stared at Mac’s lifeless form. His body numbed. Mac had once saved his life, but yet when Mac needed KC, he hadn’t been there. More tears slipped down his face as he watched Shar rock, cradling her father against her breast, whispering unintelligibly, kissing his forehead. He had not only let Mac down, but Shar as well. It seemed that everyone he ever cared about he let down. First his parents by allowing them to be killed by a drunk driver he had stopped moments before and let go, only to travel down the road and broadside their car. Now he had failed Mac, leaving Shar as alone as he. His stomach revolted. His gut clenched. KC scrambled to his feet, stumbled to a grassy knoll, and vomited. His stomach heaved until there was no more left to give. Wiping the back of his bloodied hand across his mouth, he nearly retched again. He doubted even a shower would cleanse Mac’s blood from him. KC was as guilty as if he had held the knife himself. The ambulance drove an arc around his SUV and pulled next to Shar. The red lights illuminated the alley, lending an eerie light show to the dark alley. Everything appeared surreal. KC walked to Shar as the paramedics knelt beside her. She held tightly to Mac, not letting go as her sobs continued. KC placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s time, Shar.” “No! No, not yet. Please, KC.” 275

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KC helped the paramedics disentangle her, then pulled her to her feet where she collapsed against him. Her cries echoed and shook her body as she fisted the front of his shirt. He smoothed his hands down her back. “Shhh…it will be all right, Shar, I promise. I’ll take care of you.” One EMT brought her a blue blanket, that KC wrapped her in and continued to hold her close. “Why, KC? Why did Daddy have to die?” “I wish I could answer that, Shar. But sometimes the sins of our past have a way with catching up to us.” His tears nearly choked him as he tried to remain strong for Shar, when all he wanted to do was curse the night—the unfairness of it all. Why couldn’t God have taken his life? After all, he had no one who would miss him, no family to grieve the loss. His best friend’s life had been stolen because of KC’s incompetence. He had failed to name the killer. KC deserved the fate of death, not Mac. Shar brushed back the bangs from her forehead. Blood, dirt, and tears streaked her face. “What sins? Surely you aren’t saying this is Daddy’s fault!” “No.” He lay his palms on her cheeks. “I never said that, sweetheart.” Shar stepped from his embrace. Her eyes darkened. “You said his sins caught up with him. What aren’t you telling me, KC?” KC tried to pull her back into his embrace, if nothing other than to comfort himself. She slapped away his advance. “I want to know the truth, KC. Why is my father dead?” KC knew that only the truth would ease the ache in her lost soul. “You’re father was killed, Shar—because he allowed your mother to be.” “My mother…her death was an accident. She slipped in a bathtub and hit her head.” “You’re mother was murdered, Shar.” 276

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She blinked twice, then was gone. Before KC could stop her, she jumped into his Blazer, threw it into reverse, and spun out of the alley, leaving him stranded. Hell, he supposed he deserved it. KC’s way with words had been common knowledge. Telling Shar now that her mother had been murdered had been ill-timed. KC slowly ran his hands down his face and groaned. Life couldn’t get much worse. His parents were dead, Mac had been murdered, and Shar would likely never speak to him again. The zip of the body bag caused KC to jump. As they loaded Mac into the back of the ambulance and turned off the flashing lights to drive away, KC felt the last of his blood drain from his heart. Had it not been from the oxygen in his lungs, surely his chest would have caved. He kicked a pebble with his boot, then headed from the alley to find a pay phone. * * * KC stood beneath a steady stream of hot water, hoping to wash away the sticky stench left from the scene. Deputy Miller picked him up and dropped him off at the station after stretching yellow crimescene tape across the alley entrance. One of the night shift deputies had been left to keep a keen eye on the alley until daytime would lend them enough sunlight to process the scene. Deputy Crawford, pulling a double, was to locate his SUV and report back to KC. Shar shouldn’t be alone at a time like this, but, at the moment, KC knew he was the last person she wanted to see. And until the killer sat behind bars, Shar’s life hung in the balance. Rinsing the lemon-scented shampoo from his hair, he then turned off the knobs and stepped from the shower. His entire body ached from the need of sleep, but until KC caught Mac’s killer, he’d likely not get any. Dressed, he plopped a peppermint into his mouth to rid the smell from his sinuses, and headed upstairs. Mac had said he knew the killer. 277

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His dying words echoed through KC’s head. “Sh…eri…ff.” Although Shar thought Mac had been referring to himself, KC knew otherwise. If KC’s intuitions proved right, then Mac had been referring to the sheriff in his tale of years past. A deathly calm settled over the sheriff’s office, mourning the loss of a great man. Fran’s bloodshot gaze landed on KC as he approached. She blew her nose into the wadded tissue she had stored in her hand. “What are you doing here this early?” “I heard about”—she hiccuped—“Mac’s death. I came in to see if I could do anything to help.” “I could use a favor.” “Anything.” She sniffed. “I need to see a picture of a retired sheriff. Thomas Morland. Can you dig one up for me?” Obviously glad for something to do, Fran nodded. “I think there are pictures stored upstairs. Years ago, before the remodeling, they used to hang in the hallway. I think I can come up with one. Why? He hasn’t been around in years.” “Rumor has it he might be back and I’d like to check his picture— see if he looks familiar. I’ll be in Mac’s office.” KC didn’t know what he expected to find, but just maybe Mac had left a clue. Mac’s tale had included the fact that the old sheriff had carried a torch for his wife. KC could certainly understand, as Alison had been a beautiful woman. He, himself, had bowed to that temptation. Luckily, Mac had never found out. But then again, it would be a sin that would forever haunt KC, as it now would go unforgiven. KC sat heavily into Mac’s leather chair, his knees giving way beneath him. He steepled his hands and sighed. His gaze swept the room as memories poured over him, weighing like two-ton bricks on his shoulders. His eyes filled with tears as he remembered the day Mac had tackled the bootlegger. Afterward, they had gone to the tavern, now 278

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known as General Lee’s, and drank themselves under the table. KC could see Mac clear as day standing at the bar, beer in hand, as they toasted Shar’s graduation from college and her return to Pine Knot. He saw the deep imbedded smile that dimpled Mac’s cheeks, heard the robust laugh that came from Mac’s gut, and felt the bear of a hug Mac had always given. KC brought his hands to his face and cried. His shoulders shook. He not only lost a colleague, he lost a best friend. Being deemed Stone Cold, and likely earning that title more often than not, KC had few people he could call friend. Mac had been the first to chisel through the frozen exterior and love him unconditionally like a brother. His memories were his own and he would cherish them a lifetime. But the one thing he wished to hell he could do but couldn’t was give Shar back her father, no matter how desperately he wanted it. Needing to hear her voice and to know she was safe, he lifted the receiver and called Mac’s home. The phone rang four times, then the answering machine picked up. Shar’s voice reiterated the message. After the beep, KC said, “Shar, please pick up the phone. I need to know you’re okay.” Silence greeted him. KC glanced at the wall clock. Three in the morning. If not at home, where the hell was she? “Sweetheart—I know you’re angry with me right now. But I need to know you’re all right.” Still nothing. Sweat beaded his brow. The hairs on his nape rose. “Shar, dammit—you’re scaring me! Answer the damn phone or I’m coming over.” Fran entered the office, fresh tears wetting her cheeks. She handed him a dusty eleven by fourteen framed picture. KC slammed down the receiver, causing Mac’s secretary to jump. He took the photo from her and stared at the aged picture. Fran pointed at the phone. “Who were you unable to get?” “Shar.” 279

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“She’s not at her home?” “No.” KC clenched his jaw, the pressure traveling clear to his ears, ending with a ring. “She left the scene in my Blazer. I haven’t seen her since.” “I’ll have the dispatcher put out an APB on her. We’ll find her, KC.” She patted his hand, then left. KC hoped they found her and fast. Hard telling what she might do, not to mention the threats she had as of late. Shar was supposed to stay at his side, not run off half-cocked. He gave the photo a once-over, noting nothing unusual about the man. By the looks of it, Sheriff Morland had been stout. His jet-black hair was combed straight back from his forehead. His nose appeared slightly crooked as though it had been broken one time in his life. His eyes were pale blue, but other than that, his features were normal. KC was positive he had never seen the man before. He laid the picture atop the desk and stood. First order of business, he needed to find Shar. KC reached for the light switch, then took one final look at the photograph laying on Mac’s desk. Something caught his attention. Maybe it was seeing it from another angle, but the features of a much-older man jumped out at him. The eyes, the slightly crooked nose. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He saw what Mac had likely seen just before his death and it scared the hell out of him. A man he had trusted, with whom he had shared some of the most intimate details of his life, who pretended to be of God. A man who fooled an entire community. Dear God, he had to find Shar and fast.

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CHAPTER 26

Shar jumped from the cab of KC’s SUV. The events of the day had yet to fully sink in. Her body ached; her mind numbed. She had cried until the tears dried up and a migraine threatened to pop a vessel. Denial had gone, the anger dissipated, all that seemed left was fatigue. Three ibuprofen later, and what seemed like a gallon of coffee, she thought herself ready to return home. Mac’s home. Now, standing looking at the empty house, she realized her mistake. Shar wasn’t sure she could ever enter the place again. Without Mac to occupy the space, the cabin became nothing more than an empty shell. Her heart ached; her eyes swelled again with tears. How could she possibly live without him? She approached the structure, one wooden step at a time. What probably took only the span of a few minutes felt like a lifetime, every possible memory of it. She had to enter, knew it was the only way to heal her gaping wounds. Part of that process was accepting the fact Mac would never 281

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come back. The tears ran; her nose leaked. She swiped an angry hand across her face, ridding it of its wetness, willing herself to be strong. She wouldn’t cave in to despair. She wouldn’t run off to KC at the first sign of weakness. Had it not been for KC and his lies about her mother, maybe she would be in his arms at this moment, receiving the comfort she longed for. How could he possibly tell her that Mac would conceal her mother’s murder for so many years? The sheriff’s department had ruled her death an accident—a tragic one, but an accident nonetheless. Stiffening her spine, she marched up the steps, stuck her key in the hole and realized the door hadn’t been locked. Either KC and she had forgotten to do it when they had left earlier, or Mac had. Shar turned the knob and stepped into the dark interior. Her hand refused to go to the light switch that would illuminate the darkened room. Her father’s presence nearly choked her as she hiccuped on a sob. Placing one hand over her lips, she attempted to cease their trembling. “God,” she whispered, “give me the strength to go on without him.” “He won’t help you!” a voice snarled from the darkness. A hand seized her bicep, eliciting a scream from her. Her legs felt like marble as she attempted to turn. She groped in the darkness for the Tiffany lamp on a table by the door. Grasping the iron base, she swung the lamp at the intruder. A sickening thud sounded as she made contact. Glass shattered and tinkled to the ground as his grip on her arm loosened. Pure adrenaline surging, she ran from the cabin, down the steps, toward KC’s SUV. Shar fumbled in her pockets for the keys, coming up empty-handed. Dear God, they had fallen out. She turned in time to see a large hulking figure emerge from the darkened door and step onto the shadows of the porch, obscuring his features. His hands wiped at his face, no doubt brushing the glass from the cuts. Shar took one look into the deep forest and knew her only escape. 282

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With any luck she would be faster than the man behind her. His bulk would slow him. Still in nothing other than her jeans and blood-stained bra, she headed for the canopy the forest provided. Fear clawed her spine. Terror threatened to choke her. Shar ran as fast as her legs would take her as raw energy kept her moving forward. She jumped over fallen twigs, ducked beneath low-hanging branches, all the while hearing the unknown man taking up the chase. Her breathing labored as she fought for oxygen. Twigs and branches scratched at her face, her arms, and her sides as she twisted and turned through the dense foliage. A large fallen tree brought her to a dead stop. Shar glanced back, only to find her foe gaining. She squealed, hopped on the tree, and rolled over to the other side. The bark bit into her flesh and she fell to the brush on the ground. Jumping to her feet, she glanced back to find the man had taken the safer route around the tree, further closing the gap. Running to the right, she tripped over a large root and fell flat on her face, tasting the gritty soil. Shar fought her way back to her feet, only to wince as she realized her ankle had twisted. She hobbled off, ignoring the pain as the attacker was but mere feet behind. At this pace, he would easily catch her. Survival instincts kicked in. Shar made an arc around a huge evergreen and stopped, flattening her back against the rough bark. Her breathing came in large gulps, her heart thundered in her ears, hampering her from hearing his approach. As he zigged the base of the tree, she stuck out her booted foot, and watched the large man fall like a downed grizzly. Shar turned and ran back the way she came as her attacker struggled to his feet and again took up the chase. Just as she approached the edge of the woods and freedom, her foot sunk in a deep hole and further twisted the sore ankle. She cried in pain. The stout man easily caught her. He yanked her to her feet by the neck with one powerful hand. His 283

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free hand drew back, giving her little time to think, as it hit her square in the face. Pain blinded her. The bones in her nose gave way and blackness engulfed her. * * * KC had the dispatcher call the church’s secretary, Martha, to meet him at the Pastor’s office, as no one had answered Thomas Jackson’s phone. He raced through the streets in the deputy’s cruiser. Lights lit the sky; the siren filled the air. If KC were to stop the madness, then he needed to find the man responsible. Lights in the office illuminated the windows, telling him Martha waited. He cut the siren, then jogged to the door. Inside, the secretary sat on a large, over-stuffed chair, ringing her hands. “You sounded so urgent, Detective. I can’t imagine where Pastor Jackson might be at this time in the morning.” One glance out the window told KC he had been up well-over twenty-four hours, as the sun began to crest. “Do you know if he was home at all last evening?” Martha shook her head. “I leave here every afternoon at four o’clock. What Pastor Jackson does with his time after that, I don’t know. I’m just the secretary. Is he in any kind of trouble?” “We don’t know yet, Martha. Could be. Right now I need to search his office.” KC threw the search warrant on the desk. The judge had not been happy to be called out of bed in the wee hours of the morning. “How long have you known the pastor?” “Just the two years he’s been here. Before that, I worked for Pastor Riegnbolt. When he passed away, Pastor Jackson kindly took his place. We were lucky to have him in such short notice.” “Did you put out a call?” “No. Funniest thing. We needed a pastor, and there he was.” “No qualifications?” “Sure, he did. He had a diploma.” 284

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“Anyone can get a diploma, Martha. Did you check its validity?” Martha looked at her feet as her ears reddened. “Wasn’t a reason to.” KC knew some churches didn’t require that a minister be ordained. KC, himself, hadn’t been to church in so long that he never thought twice when Pastor Jackson arrived, nor did he know how his own church’s policies worked. He began searching the office, not sure what he was looking for. Something had to point him in the right direction. Something had to prove Pastor Thomas Jackson was not who he claimed to be, but was a man from the past. More specifically, Sheriff Thomas Morland. KC rooted through drawers and filing cabinets, finding nothing of interest, as Martha watched in curious silence. He scanned the shelves behind the desk, his eyes roaming over volume after volume of books dealing with theology and the Bible. His gaze stopped when he noted dog-eared pages in an old leather-bound volume. Pulling it from the shelf, he saw it to be a book on ancient history, exactly like the one KC had checked out from the library. He opened to one of the marked pages. It was a description of crucifixion and what a body goes through before dying and reasons why people were sentenced to death on a cross. Another marked page described the ancient practice of being drawn and quartered. The next, how women in India, for reason of punishment, were sometimes buried up to their necks with their heads left exposed to bake in the sun. Bingo. KC had found where Thomas Jackson’s methods of execution had come from. Continuing his search, he found an old leather wallet stuck in the back of a cabinet drawer, hidden behind files, that, when opened, produced Sheriff Morland’s old badge. Beneath the badge, KC found a couple of plastic and foil packets containing small white pills. The Rouphies Mac had talked about. The date-rape drug. There was enough evidence to get an easy conviction. 285

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KC turned to Martha. “I want this office locked and no one is to enter until I tell you otherwise.” Martha’s brow rose. “Why? What had Pastor done?” “I’m not at liberty to say, but it’s not looking good. If he should return”—KC handed Martha a business card—“call me immediately. Do not alert Pastor Jackson you are doing so. This is very important. Understand?” She nodded and accepted the card. “I’ll call.” KC headed for the door when his beeper went off. He checked the number, then walked to the phone and dialed. “What do you have?” KC asked. “We found your Blazer, Detective.” “Is Shar all right?” “We don’t know. We found the SUV parked at the sheriff’s place. The door to the cabin was left standing open, and there was a broken lamp by the front door.” Dread sat in the pit of his stomach, souring his consumed coffee. “How long ago?” “They just called it in.” “I’m on my way there now.” KC hung up and raced for the door. * * * Shar awoke in agonizing pain. Her face felt as though it had been broken into tiny shards. Her pulse beat heavily in her nose as she fought to take deep breaths. Memories of running through the forest assailed her. Tiny scratches stung her upper body as she still wore nothing more than jeans and the white lace brassiere. She shivered as the dampness of the dark cabin settled in. When she tried to move, she realized her hands were tied behind her back and her feet were bound at the ankles. Squirming, she tried to loosen the binds, but found the rope biting into her skin and not slackening. She rested her head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. A quick glance around the room told her she was alone. It didn’t appear 286

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there were any other rooms. Where the hell was she? Shar struggled to sit higher on the bed so that she could rest against the headboard. Her flat position made it hard for her to draw a breath through her busted and bruised nose. Her eyes felt puffy and were no doubt purpled. If this man was indeed the killer, why hadn’t he killed her already? Fear slithered up her spine. Unless she was able to get out of her binds, she would be next. Ignoring the pain of the ropes, Shar worked her fingers, trying desperately to grasp the loose ends and get some slack with which she could slip her hands through. Her smell alone nearly had her gagging. Mac’s blood littered her skin as she had yet to shower away the filth. She doubted she’d ever feel clean again. While working the bindings, Shar searched the cabin for a knife, or something, to aid her. The small cabin had nothing more than the iron bed, a fireplace, a scarred wooden table, and a couple of worn, stuffed chairs. The fireplace looked as though it hadn’t been used in years, with a couple of iron pokers resting beside it. If Shar could work free of her ropes, she could use one of the pokers as a weapon. Two large windows faced what she assumed to be the front of the cabin. They appeared as though they hadn’t been used in years, as dirt distorted the view of the forest outside. One seemed stuck in the open position. A smaller window graced the back wall, above the tiny sink, with a solid wooden door beside it. Shar assumed the cabin had been used at one time by hunters. Shar thought about KC, fearing she had been too hard on him. After all, he only related to her what her father more than likely told him. But her father covering her mother’s murder made little sense. It wasn’t as though Mac had told only her as much—the entire town believed Alison’s death had been a tragic accident. Alison MacArthur died at a tender age by slipping in the bathtub and hitting her head. Mac came 287

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home from work, hours too late, to find her floating in the water, leaving behind a baby daughter and a devoted husband. Mac’s heartbreak had kept him from ever marrying again. Someone had taken her mother’s life and Mac covered it up. Shar shook her head as a lump lodged in her throat. The idea was too inconceivable. A branch snapped beyond the door, telling Shar of her captor’s return. She watched the knob turn and the door push inward. She quickly slid down the mattress and closed her eyes. * * * Thomas walked into the cabin, glancing at the bed. Alison’s daughter remained unconscious. Had it not been for the filth marring her skin, and the bruising to her face, she’d look like an angel lying innocently. He really hadn’t meant to harm her. But, unfortunately, he had been given little choice. His revenge should have ended with the death of Mike MacArthur, but Kevin Charles had to insinuate himself into the scheme of things. Had Kevin left well enough alone, and not gotten too close to the answers, then he would have left town long ago—disappeared. But because his plan had been foiled, now he must add two more to his list. With a thud, Thomas dropped his load of firewood on the floor. He looked at Shar, who remained unmoved. He hoped to hell he hadn’t killed her. He approached the bed and watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. Relief washed over him. She would die, but not before he made Detective Tanner suffer for ruining his carefully laid plans. Then, and only then, would he head to another town, another life. These murders would go unsolved, and everyone involved would be dead. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. Thomas had planned each murder, meticulously plotting for years. Finally, twenty years in the making, the time had arrived, and he took each life, one week at a time. 288

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Mac was to be the last. The sheriff would have left a suicide note along with a confession. But his plan had gone wrong when Mac recognized him and he had no choice but to kill him before he blabbed the truth to the world. He hadn’t killed him immediately, as there were too many witnesses. Mac had given him the perfect opportunity, though, as he waited in the alley. Once a fool, always a fool. Taking Shar hadn’t been intended either. But he knew, from Kevin’s confessions to him during their counseling sessions, that he would go to the end of the world to find her. Poor boy. Thomas knew only too well how Kevin felt, as he had felt much the same way about the mother. Alison had been his forbidden fruit, like Shar was to Kevin. The only difference, Thomas had held out, Kevin hadn’t. Kevin had bowed to temptation and took what his body desired. Not only with the daughter, but twenty years ago with the mother. Kevin proved to be weak. Weak men couldn’t be trusted. Kevin Charles had to die. He poked Shar in the side with a stick. She remained motionless. Satisfied, Thomas turned his back and returned his attention to stacking the wood to create a bonfire—a human sacrifice. Soon, this whole ugly mess would be over. If Kevin Charles was half as smart as Thomas thought him to be, it’d be only a matter of time before he found them. * * * KC entered the sheriff’s office, his mind numb from lack of sleep. He grabbed a cup of thick black coffee on his way past the conference room, wincing as he took a sip. Fran greeted him with a half-hearted smile. “Any news?” she asked, hope lacing each shaken word. “None,” KC grumbled as he continued on his way to his office. How in the hell would he find Shar? KC had no clue where to begin. All he had on Thomas Morland was an old address. Upon driving by the place, KC found an empty lot. It appeared as though the 289

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house had burned down long ago. As far as anyone knew, the property still belonged to Morland, but no one had seen the man in years. Fran poked her head into the office. “Anything I can get for you?” “Run down real estate for Thomas Morland. Anything that might come up on the man.” “You think he’s involved?” “I know he is, Fran. He’s the one I saw running in the alley. The only reason I didn’t catch him was because of my concern for Mac. Now, he has Shar.” “You’ll find him, KC.” He nodded. “I’m just hoping I’m not too late.” Fran left the office. KC leaned back in his leather chair, propped his booted feet on the edge of his desk, and crossed them at the ankle. He took another healthy swig of the java. His body told him he needed sleep. His mind told him otherwise. He needed to find Shar and fast, but so far, he had nothing but one dead-end lead after another. One name popped in his mind like a revelation. Paul Smith. If anyone knew properties owned by members of the community, it would be him. KC grasped the phone book and flipped through the pages, running his name down the long list of Smiths. Finding Paul’s number, he lifted the receiver and dialed. Coughing could be heard on the other end before the wheezing, “Hello.” “Paul, this is Detective Tanner.” More coughing. “What can I do for you, Deputy?” KC heard the inhaler being depressed. “Thomas Morland. You know him?” After a few steady breaths, as steroids soothed his throat and opened his air passages, Paul finally said in a calmer voice, “The old sheriff? Sure do.” “He own property here?” “As far as I know, he still owns that hunk a land just south of here 290

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off Highway 27. Ain’t no house there, burnt down several years ago. Community went in and cleaned it up. Eyesore, is what it was. Thomas—he never did come back.” “You know anything about him, Paul? Any rumors?” “Can’t say that I have. Sheriff Morland kept himself pretty clean. Was darn curious, though, when he took off like he did. He had the support of the community. Well liked.” “Any place he might be staying if he’d venture back into town?” A lengthy pause ensued, then finally Paul said, “There’s a hunting cabin he used up in the hills. Lots of hunters did. Not far from Mac’s place. I don’t right know who owns it, but he’d go up there and sometimes stay for days. Don’t know whatever happened to the place, though. Don’t think anyone uses it anymore. Far’s I know, it could be torn down. Just another empty lot gone to weeds.” “You have the directions?” KC hurriedly wrote down everything Paul related, thanked him, then hung up. With renewed hope, he jogged from the office and approached Fran. “Find out who owns this property.” He wrote down the address for her, then headed for the door. “Send back-up out there.” “They’re tied up at General Lee’s, KC. Jackie called in. Some kind of barroom skirmish. All hell broke loose. Tables and mirrors broke, bottles thrown. A real mess, from what I hear. Couple of drunks got into a fight over a pool game.” “Get them out there ASAP, Fran. It may turn out to be nothing, but just in case…” He let the sentence hang. He couldn’t begin to voice what might have already happened to Shar. If Thomas Morland laid one hand on Shar’s head, he’d execute the son of a bitch himself. Moreland wouldn’t have to worry about the judge.

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CHAPTER 27

Shar watched with trepidation as her captor meticulously stacked wood beneath and around the bed. Her fright kept her from feigning unconsciousness a moment longer. The bastard intended to burn her alive. Certainly, she couldn’t just lay there and allow it to happen. She needed a plan. Should he light the fire, there would be no way KC could ever get to her in time. Whatever the scheme, it better be a damn good one. For at the moment, she lay bound and helpless, at a madman’s mercy. Stall him, she thought, opting for conversation. She needed an added diversion for time. “Who are you?” Shar asked, her shaken voice betraying her nerves. The stout man looked up from his work. “You’re awake. The name is Thomas Morland. I wish I could say it is nice to meet you, and under better circumstances, it might have been so.” “What is it you want from me?” Shar continued to work on the bindings. A slight slack had begun, but her fingers had become numb in 292

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her struggle. “I used to be sheriff here years ago. Your father was one of my deputies.” “You knew my father?” His eyes darkened. “Of course, I did. You don’t think he died in vain, do you?” One finger slipped into the hole she had created at the knot. “My father was a good man.” He glared at her. “You know nothing about what you speak.” A few more moments and she might just obtain freedom. “Then tell me so I might understand.” “Your father is the reason your mother is no longer living.” Tears filled her eyes, remembering KC’s words. “You lie!” “Do I? I see the doubt in your eyes, Sharalee. You know your father is guilty of something horrid. You’re just too afraid to acknowledge it.” Knowing she may never get another chance for answers, she forged ahead. The need to know gave her the courage. “How is my father involved in my mother’s accidental death?” “Your mother’s death was ruled an accident…thanks to me,” he hissed. “The bastard you called ‘Father,’ poor dear, isn’t really your father.” Shar sucked in a deep breath. Blood drained from her face, making her lightheaded, her bindings temporarily forgotten. Thomas chuckled cruelly. “You know George Stanton? Ah, by the look on your face I can tell you do. George was your father, dear, not Mac. What? He never shared that little bit of information?” Shar shook her head, unable to utter a sound. “It’s true, I’m afraid to say. Mac was sterile. I saw his medical records. He couldn’t be the father of anyone.” “Even if that were so…how do you know that, that—” Shar found herself unable to voice the horror her life had become. “That George is your father?” he finished for her. His disposition 293

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blackened as his mouth turned down. “Because your mother confided in me. It was for that reason and a few others that your father betrayed her by inviting over some of the town’s men and allowing them to have their way. A gang rape, if you will. Lee Burton decided to shut her up…permanently. That’s when they called me in, to save their sorry hides from prosecution.” “So why did you?” “Because I didn’t want my name blackened in their affair. I was loved by the community. They destroyed that—forced me to resign. Although the death was ruled an accident, rumors spread through the grapevine. I heard the way they talked about me…called me incompetent.” “Why come back after all these years?” “Revenge,” he stated. “Revenge?” “I was in love with your mother. I convinced her the reasons for her hardships was due to Mac. He never loved her—not like I did. She was going to leave him. But your father took that from me.” Shar fought for breaths as the whole sordid tale began to sink in and swim through her head. How could her father be guilty of such a deed? This wasn’t the same man she loved and worshipped. Mac never lied or betrayed her. She was beginning to think her whole life had been nothing but a facade. Shar continued to work the knots. Freedom was but a few minutes away. Even in her stress, she couldn’t allow it to stop her from attaining her goal. “What does all this have to do with me?” “Simple.” He shrugged. “I intend to use you for bait. When Kevin Charles shows up, and he will, I’ll kill you both. Kevin knows far too much for me to allow him to live. Besides, he’s been a pain in my side.” Tears filled her eyes as Thomas went back to work. Tremors snaked 294

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down her skin at the thought of being burned alive. She worked furiously behind her back on the bindings. She needed to keep him talking a bit longer. The slack in the rope grew. “You killed my father for the sake of revenge?” “Yes. Unfortunate the way it had to go down, though. I was so hoping he would be blamed for all the murders. Confession is good for the soul, you know. But tragic, as his death would have ended in suicide. The plan was perfect.” He inspected his work, smiled, then grasped a can of lighter fluid from the counter by the stainless steel sink. Shar tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Precious time slipped away. She had to act fast or be burned to a crisp. As soon as he flipped open the spout, she rolled from the high bed, her hands now free. Her swollen ankle kept her from landing on her feet, sending her sprawling to the floor. She grasped at the rope about her ankles, trying desperately to work the knot free. Thomas cursed, closed the lighter fluid can, then threw it on the bed. He jogged around it, grasped her by the hair, and lifted her as though she weighed no more than a feather. Shar screamed as red lights of pain flashed through her brain like a kaleidoscope. Sneering in disgust, he tossed her atop the dried-out mattress. He took a large hunting knife from his pocket; it snapped open with a click. She thought him ready to end her life, right then and there, saving him the trouble of lighting the wood. Instead, he grasped another length of rope, cut a piece, and yanked her free arm over her head. Shar reached out with her opposite hand and, using her nails, raked a bloodied trek down his cheek. He grasped the injured area, then backhanded her across her bruised and battered face. Agony shot through her, nearly more than she could bear, as the edges of her vision blackened and threatened to send back into the abyss. She fought to stay alert. Awake she could still fight; out cold, 295

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she would surely parish. Thomas bound her hand to the bedpost, cinching it, causing shards of pain to lightning-bolt up her arm. Blood trickled from the cut, caused by the rope tearing into her flesh. Thomas crawled on top of her, his heavy weight sitting on her chest, binding the other hand to the opposite post. Dear God, death knocked at the door. With her hands bound, there was no way she would be able to escape the trap of this madman. Blood drained down the back of her throat from his backhand reopening her wounds, nearly choking her. A blessing, Shar thought, maybe she would drown in her own blood before he ever lit the match. Vaguely aware of his actions, Shar blinked, fighting to stay sharpwitted as he cut bindings for her feet, then tied each ankle to opposite posts. Losing the battle to stay conscious, her last coherent thought was of KC. * * * KC hid in the shadows of the forest as Thomas came out of the cabin, picked up several logs, then returned. He knew he had the advantage over the ex-sheriff. Although, Thomas no doubt expected him, he had no way of knowing when KC would make his appearance. Gun drawn, he approached the log home, mindful of where he placed each step so as not to make a sound. The slightest snap of a twig could be Shar’s ruin, if Thomas hadn’t already taken her life. The thought nearly stopped KC in his tracks, fighting to draw breath. He needed a miracle. Doing a quick search of the woods, relatively sure Thomas acted on his own, KC trotted up to the large window facing the front. One side stood open. He flattened his back against the wood siding, kept his gun at the ready, then cautiously peered in. The sight stopped his heartbeat and nearly had him doubling over in pain. Rage blinded him. His ears rang as adrenaline rushed through his body. Shar lay unconscious on a bed, her arms and legs tied to the 296

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bedposts. Her face, turned toward the window, was nearly unrecognizable. Morland had beaten her so badly her eyes seemed swollen shut. Dried blood caked her cheeks and mouth. Her perfectly straight nose lay fat and twisted. His need to protect her overshadowed the instincts that raised the hair at his nape, telling him to wait for backup. This maniac would kill without remorse. But blinding rage had KC moving forward. KC would forfeit his own life for Shar’s. Never had he felt such an encompassing desire to safeguard someone. Ducking beneath the window, he moved stealthily to the door. He had not seen Morland upon inspection of the cabin, but then his gaze centered on Shar and the wood stacked carefully around the bed. The son of a bitch meant to burn her alive. Thomas Morland would never see a jury. KC meant to make sure of it. Grasping the knob, KC yanked open the door and planted both feet in a horse stance. His gun pointed straight in front of him as he surveyed the interior. An opened door sat to the rear, next to a stainless steel sink. Shit. His preoccupation with Shar had caused poor assessment. Before he could turn and search the woods, a blinding pain at the base of his skull sent him to his knees. KC grasped the back of his head, feeling the sticky-wetness of his own blood, then took one final look at Shar before he fell face first on the dirt floor. * * * KC ran through the woods. Branches and thorns tore at his clothing and bare skin. His flesh stung, his breathing labored, but he knew time was of the essence. He ran around fallen trees, jumped over holes, the entire time his lungs burned as though on fire. His heart drummed a heavy beat in his chest; his blood roared through his veins. He wiped the sweat pouring from his brow. In the 297

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distance he heard Shar’s screams, knew he had to fight his way through the maze of forest. If he didn’t get to her, he knew she’d die. Steps behind him had him glancing back to see a wild boar fast on his heels. He dodged a tree, jumped over low brush. Panic clawed up his spine and intertwined his limbs, numbing them. Suddenly it felt as though his feet weighed a ton as he lifted each one and placed it in front of the other. His body traveled in slow motion as the boar gained on him at a rapid pace, nipping at his heels. KC vaulted to a low-hanging branch, caught it with his hands, the bark biting into his flesh. He pulled himself up as the boar ran past and disappeared into the foliage. Scanning the area, he looked in the direction of Shar’s screams, seeing nothing but a tiny cabin. One look at the ground told him the boar had gone in pursuit of something else and had forgotten him altogether. He leapt from the branch, slamming into the forest flooring, the jar vibrating up his spine. With no time to think, he tore off toward the cabin. Along the path he saw George Stanton hanging on the crucifix, his eyes wide and accusing. KC stopped in shock and stared at the man hanging there. “You’re too late,” he hissed, then tilted back his head and chortled. “No!” KC shouted, taking up his chase again, tripping over a tree root and falling flat on his face. His hands dug into the rich soil, only to connect with the rotting flesh of Kip Lawrence. His head turned a oneeighty; his gaping mouth laughed hysterically. KC scrambled to his feet, brushing the filth from his hands, and backed away before taking another route to the cabin. The weeds tangled at his feet, nearly sending him sprawling facedown again. He grasped at a low-hanging branch to right himself, only to discover it not a branch at all, but a wooden foot. Reese Walker’s artificial leg hung attached to a tree. KC swallowed the scream and darted to the left, only to find Lee Burton blocking his path, blood pouring down his face, the steel gargoyle cane sticking from his skull. KC forged ahead, ducking 298

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beneath Lee’s outstretched arms. His chest felt near to bursting as the only sounds to be heard from behind were those of the laughing corpses. Closing in on the cabin, KC ran around to the back, finding Mac standing there, hands out to the side, the gaping wound on his neck bleeding profusely. KC gagged. Mac said with a menacing chuckle, “You failed me, KC, what makes you think you’ll save my daughter?” “No!” KC spat, then fought his way around the hulking figure and stumbled into the cabin. His mother and father’s battered bodies sat in wooden rockers by the fire, their heads turning in his direction. “You’re home, dear?” his mother asked. “Shar,” he whispered. “Oh that”—his father waved a hand—“Thomas, nice man, took her for a little walk,” then his ominous chortle cut through KC like a straight razor. His mother smiled sweetly. “How do you expect to save her, dear, when you couldn’t save us?” “Dear God!” KC doubled over in pain. “Where?” he croaked. Both his mother and father pointed with burnt and rotted fingers to a spot beyond the opened window. The calm and piece of the forest was disrupted as fire cracked and reached for the sky. KC walked on wooden legs to the door and saw Shar encased in the orange-red flames, holding out her hands. “Save me, KC.” His father’s laughter taunted him from behind as KC ran to her. The heat intensified. “I can’t get to you,” he cried, tears streaming down his face. “Dear God, I can’t reach you.” “KC,” she wailed pitifully. “It’s too hot, Shar—” * * * Cold water hit him in the face, cutting through the blackness like shards of ice. KC shook off the droplets of water, but his arms remained glued to his side. Thomas’ cruel chuckle startled him into 299

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awareness. A quick look down told him he had been tied to one of the rockers his parents had occupied in his nightmare. One glance at the bed proved that the nightmare was far from over. Shar remained tied to the four posts, but her jeans now lay in tattered shreds beside the bed, nothing covering her. A sharp pain exploded in his cheek and mouth as Thomas’ fist connected with his cheek and jaw. His head jarred to the side. Blood trickled from a split lip. The metallic flavor filled his mouth and he spit the blood on the floor. “Wake up, dear boy. You’ll miss the floor show.” KC wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands, limb from limb. He struggled against his binds, rocking the chair heavily. “You son of a bitch,” KC hissed. “You touch her and I’ll kill you. You’ll never see a court room. I promise that.” Thomas widened his gaze and held his arms out to the sides, mocking him. “Dear boy—looks like you are the one tied up at the moment. How do you plan to follow through?” He gave KC his back and crawled on the mattress between Shar’s spread legs. The bed dipped and creaked from his added weight. Shar’s screams turned to broken sobs. Tears rolled down her bruised face. “Don’t watch, KC,” she pleaded. “Please, close your eyes.” Thomas growled. “Stupid bitch.” He grabbed her hair, eliciting a squeal, and looked back at KC. “You watch or I’ll make this more painful for her then it has to be.” KC nodded slowly as his hands worked furiously at the knots behind his chair. A small shuddering cry rent from Shar’s throat, nearly tearing KC’s heart from his chest. His gut clenched and he rocked the chair furiously, nearly upsetting it, as the ex-sheriff reached out and touched Shar. Shar flinched and closed her eyes, turning away her face. KC growled, the roar coming from deep inside. “You son of a bitch. Touch her and I’ll send you to hell!” 300

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Shar did not want KC to witness her humiliation, as she kept her face from him. His mother and Mac had been right in his nightmare. KC was worthless. Sitting bound and helpless, he couldn’t be the hero Shar needed him to be. Tears streamed down his cheeks unheeded. “Kill me,” he spat at the sheriff. “Kill me but let her go.” Thomas chuckled. “Oh, I will kill you, Kevin. Mark my words. But I want you to suffer first.” He pulled down the zipper on his pants, released himself, and poised above her. “You watching, Kevin? I’m—” His words died as a deafening explosion sounded outside the window. He collapsed atop Shar. She screamed and bucked, trying to throw the lifeless body from her. KC had watched as a red crimson hole appeared at the back of Thomas’ head and his brains splattered the wall behind the bed. KC tore at his binds, the ropes cutting into his hands, but finally managed enough slack to free himself and untie the knot. Throwing aside the ropes, he ran to the bed and pushed Thomas from Shar. He landed with a sickening thud atop the wood flooring. Shar’s eyes remained clenched tight as KC grasped a clean edge of the quilt and wiped the blood and brain matter from her face before untying each hand and foot. Freed from her prison, she sat up and fell into KC’s waiting embrace. Her sobs shook her body and stole his heart. * * * Hours later, KC sat on the edge of a white, sterile hospital bed, looking down at Shar. Her nose had been covered by a large bandage, which stood out in stark contrast to the bruising of her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” KC whispered. “You have nothing to be sorry for, KC.” “I’ve failed you. Had I been there—” She placed her fingers on his lips, stopping his words. “I’m fine. The worst I got was a broken nose. And with a little surgery, it will be 301

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good as new.” He grasped her small, cool hand from his mouth and held it within his. “If it hadn’t been for me, Shar, your father might still be alive. You’ve lost everything, even your untarnished memory of him.” Shar nodded. “I’ve lost a lot, KC. I’m no longer who I once was. But you’ve lost as well. You lost you’re best friend.” KC brought her palm to his lips and placed a lingering kiss there. His eyes stung with the need to cry. Giving her up had to be the hardest thing he ever had to do. But he knew she deserved better. It would be his final gift to her. “I’m leaving.” Shar gazed at him, her eyes swimming in tears of her own. “When will you come back? A couple hours?” “No, Shar, you don’t understand.” He laid her palm against his cheek, trying to memorize the feel of it. “I’m not coming back.” She bit her trembling lips as a sob tore through her. “You’re leaving me?” “Yes.” Pulling her hand free, she placed it over her mouth. “Can you at least tell me why?” “I’m not the person you want. I’m not capable of loving,” he lied. His heart ached, shooting pains in his chest, causing him to think he might actually die of a broken heart. He watched her throat constrict as she attempted to swallow. The forlorn look in her eyes nearly had him throwing himself on her mercy and asking for forgiveness, shouting to the world how much he loved this woman. But he knew it wasn’t in her best interest. KC stood and backed toward the door. “I have to go.” “Don’t the words ‘I love you’ mean anything to you? Anything at all?” If she only knew how much they meant. He would go to his grave loving one woman. 302

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“I’m sorry,” he repeated, then quit the room and flattened himself against the wall, listening to her pitiful sobs. He was doing the right thing, he reminded himself. She would someday realize it. KC pushed off the wall, and began his slow trek down the hall to start the rest of his miserable life. They hadn’t found who took the shot that ended Thomas Morland’s life, and KC doubted they ever would. He could care less, though, the case had been closed. The chapter ended. He would pack his belongings and head to another life. Somewhere he could wallow in self-pity and try to forget that this one even existed. It would be the only way to cope with his loss. “You’re a bastard, Kevin Charles Tanner,” came Shar’s accusation from behind. KC turned on his heels to see Shar standing in the hallway, holding onto her IV cart. She looked adorable in her hospital gown, the light silhouetting her every curve. His gut tightened. “You can’t even admit you love me. You’re a coward.” He stiffened his shoulders. “What would you know?” “I know I’ve been through hell. But I’m willing to take a chance on heaven. The question is, are you?” He hadn’t saved her from the horror, but it didn’t seem to matter to her. He could continue into the hell that waited or accept the heaven she offered. He took one hesitant step toward her, giving her the answer she obviously waited for. Shar ambled down the hallway, dragging her wobbly cart behind her. “You love me, Kevin Charles.” A smile turned up her lips. “You know you do. You’re just too damn stubborn to admit it.” “Not stubborn, Sharalee,” he said as he gathered her within his embrace, “just damn foolish.” Then he kissed her, his love for her unfurling in his heart. For the 303

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first time in his life, he was someone’s hero.

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EPILOGUE

Shar looked in the oak-framed mirror hanging by the door of the dressing room in St. Mary’s Cathedral. It had been Mac’s dream to see her married in their family church. Shar hadn’t been back in years, not since losing her faith. But somehow it felt right. Maybe it was time to put the past behind and start a new life. A new life with KC. Tears filled her eyes. She had waited a long time for this; it seemed like a lifetime. In actuality, it probably had been. From the very first day Kevin Charles Tanner walked over her father’s threshold, as she sat on the spiral staircase, little Sharalee knew he would one day be her husband. That day had finally arrived. In a matter of minutes, she would walk down the aisle and join hands with him forever. A tear slipped down her cheek. She gingerly brushed it away, not wanting to mess her carefully applied makeup. Although this should be the happiest day of her life, melancholy weighed heavily. 305

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Three months had passed since the night Mac had been murdered. He should have been the one to walk her down the aisle, to give her hand to KC. Instead, because of his past mistakes, he lay at rest six feet under. Today, she walked alone. Shar wore a white bridal gown with a halter-style bodice covered in Venice lace to her waist, where a satin skirt flared to the floor with a chapel-length hem. On her hands, she wore opera gloves and her auburn hair was twisted into a French knot, covered by a rose-crowned headpiece of two-tiered nylon. Mac would have been proud. She stood sideways, inspecting her reflection. The large pearls she wore in her ears were a gift from KC that she would cherish the rest of their married life. Running her hand down her abdomen, smoothing down the flared skirt, Shar noted she hadn’t yet begun to show, which was a blessing. She had had a hard time keeping the secret from KC as it was. Telling him of her pregnancy would be her wedding gift to him. Shar glanced at the clock on the wall; five minutes remained before the guests expected to see the elegantly dressed bride. They had invited half the town. KC had argued, wanting nothing more than to run off and elope, but Shar had wanted the works. It had always been Mac’s vision to have a large church wedding. In the end, KC gave the dream Mac had envisioned for his little angel. Princess for the day. Now that the day had arrived, the butterflies in her stomach told her KC might have been right. A quick trip to Vegas would have procured the same result. Regardless of the method, they would be husband and wife in less than an hour. A knock sounded on the door, startling her. “Come in,” she said. One of the women of the church opened the door and peered in. “My, don’t you look all beautiful, Sharalee,” the gray-haired woman gushed. “Oh, if only your father were here to see you. You are a vision. 306

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An angel in white.” Shar blushed. “I hope KC feels the same way.” “Of course, he will, child.” She gave Shar a quick hug. “Father Frederick sent me to see if you were ready to begin.” Shar smiled, wiped away the last tear, and nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for anything in my life.” “Then let’s begin,” she said and walked out the door. Shar followed the shorter woman and stood at the end of the long aisle, waiting for her signal to begin. The pews were filled, packing the church to full capacity. Garrett and Sue from work, Deputies Crawford and Miller, Jean Stanton and her daughters; it seemed that most of McCreary County turned out to see her and KC united. Shar touched her gloved fingers to her lips, and blew a kiss into the air. “This is for you, Daddy,” she whispered. KC followed the Priest from the side door at the front of the church, where he stood at the end of the long aisle and faced her, waiting for her to join him. His smile told her he was well-pleased with her appearance. As the Wedding March began, the doors to the back of the church swung open and small boy of eight or nine rushed in, carrying a large bouquet of deep red roses. “Am I too late?” he asked, out of breath. Shar knelt beside him. “Depends on what you are here to do.” The boy scanned her state of dress, then held out the flowers. “I was supposed to give these to you.” After handing her the dozen roses, he fled the church, not giving her time to thank him. Guests began turning their heads and staring in her direction as she had yet to begin her ascent. KC’s gaze narrowed on the flowers. Shar pulled the white card from the bundle and opened it, thinking it one last gift from KC. The blood drained from her face as her world teetered precariously, 307

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and a buzzing began in her ears. She stared at the written words… “Roses are red, violets are blue, it’s far from over, because I’m coming for you.”

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AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC PROUDLY PRESENTS

KISS OF DECEIT BY PATRICIA A. RASEY Nominated “Favorite Mystery/Suspense” Dorothy Parker Award of Excellence, 2001! Marcus “Snake” Gallego lives in the fast lane. Play hard, ride fast, die young. But nothing seems to touch him, not until his faithless wife turns up dead, and a pretty little detective slams his head against a bar, cuffing his hands behind his back. LeAnne McVeigh has a murderer to catch and “Snake” is a prime suspect according to her fiancé, the County prosecutor. She fights her growing attraction to the biker, but the pull is too strong to ignore and more than that, he proves to be her friend in adversity.

An Excerpt from Kiss Of Deceit …He grinned sinfully. “I don’t think what just occurred would fall under the category of funny business. I don’t know about you, but the thought of screwing you heats my blood, not tickles my funny bone.” “Do you have to be so crude? Screwing?” Her gaze widened. “Is that what you’d call it?” “What would you call it, LeAnne?” He advanced on her until they were mere inches apart again. His hot breath spanned her cheeks. She would be lying if she said she did not desire this man. The juncture of her thighs still throbbed from his touch. “Making love?” he whispered softly. “It’s a more civilized way of putting it,” she said, shifting her stance. “There’s nothing civilized about what I’d like to do with you. Besides, making love means there is love involved. Am I right?” She might have laughed had he not been so serious. Instead, she remained silent. “You planning on falling in love with me, Detective?” “No,” she stated, hoping she was never that unwise. “Then it’s screwing.”

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PATRICIA A. RASEY

A daydreamer at heart, suspense author, Patricia A. Rasey resides in her native town in Northwest Ohio with her husband, Mark, and two teenage sons. At the age of twenty-nine, her boys both tucked away in school all day, she decided to put her creative writing studies to use. A graduate of Long Ridge Writer’s School, Patricia has seen publication of her short stories in magazines. With the writing of Deadly Obsession, she was able to see her true dream come to pass and become a full-time writer, thanks to the support and encouragement of her very own hero, Mark. The year 2001 was a good one for Ms. Rasey. Not only was her book Facade a recipient of the Word Weaving Award for Literary Excellence, but also received an Honorable Mention (in the “Suspense” category) in the prestigious Dorothy Parker Award Of Excellence 2000 (books voted the best of those read and reviewed in 2000 and presented by the Reviewers’ International Organization—RIO). Kiss Of Deceit received a nomination for the Dorothy Parker Award as well. Even more special for Patricia, was that Facade was the only electronic release listed amongst the winners/honorable mentions. Additionally, Twilight Obsessions, a hair-raising trilogy of dark suspense by authors Charlotte Boyett-Compo (“Taken By The Wind”), Kate Hill (“Love On The Wild Side”), and Patricia A. Rasey (“Fear The Dark”), was nominated for the 2000 PEARL, the Paranormal Excellence Award in Romantic Literature, in the Best Anthology category.

Patricia is a member of World Romance Writers (WRW). She also belongs to Sisters in Crime (SinC), and their Internet Chapter. When not behind her computer, you can find Patricia cheering on her sons at various sporting events, or taking karate, which she enjoys doing with her eldest son. You can visit Patricia’s homepage at http://www.patriciarasey.com or write to her at: Patricia A. Rasey P.O. Box 385 Napoleon, OH. 43545 (SASE for response and freebies would be appreciated!)

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