As Darkness Fell Read online

  He was on his phone, giving orders, asking questions, apparently talking to a cop who was already at the scene of the wreck. Caroline half listened, but her mind drifted, and for seemingly no reason she slid back into the cold, dank place that haunted her worst nightmares. The church. The stairs. The feeling that she was being swallowed up by some dark, ravenous creature.

  “You okay?”

  Sam’s voice and his hand on her arm shook Caroline back to the present. She stiffened and turned to face him. “Probably as good as I’m going to get anytime soon.”

  “The news isn’t all bad. Trudy has a head injury. She’s lost a lot of blood. Scalp wounds usually bleed heavily, but she’s still conscious.”

  “What caused the wreck?”

  “The preliminary indication is that she just lost control and ran off the road.”

  “The indication is wrong. It’s him again, Sam. He knows Trudy talked to me and he tried to kill her, too. The man she described has to be the killer.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “I’m stating the obvious. Think about it. She talked to me. Within an hour someone ran her off the road and tried to kill her—or at least frighten her into silence.”

  “We don’t know she was run off the road. There are some sharp curves in that road. Take them too fast and you take yourself down the hill.”

  “Trudy drives the road every day. She wouldn’t take them too fast.”

  “We’ll know soon.”

  “What did she tell the cop on the scene? He surely asked her what happened.”

  “She said she won’t talk to anyone but you.”

  There were two squad cars at the scene when they arrived, both parked on the shoulder of the road with their flashers on. A gray compact car was lying at the bottom of a steep hill, its four wheels pointing skyward. Trudy was stretched out on the grass a few yards away.

  The second Sam stopped the car, Caroline jumped out and took off running, not knowing what she could do to help but desperate to tell Trudy she hadn’t betrayed her. When she got there, Trudy was lying deathly still, her hair matted with blood, her eyes closed. The cop who’d been kneeling beside her got up and stepped away.

  “The ambulance is on the way.”

  Caroline knelt by Trudy and took her hand. It was colder than it had been in the restaurant, even though the cop had thrown his jacket over Trudy. A deep gash ran from just above her right ear to the center of her forehead. That appeared to be the worst wound, or at least the bloodiest, but there were other cuts and scratches all over her arms and face, and her right leg was twisted grotesquely, definitely broken.

  “Trudy,” Caroline said softly, “it’s Caroline Kimberly from the newspaper.”

  Trudy opened her eyes, then closed them again.

  “I didn’t cause this. You have to trust me.”

  Trudy gave no indication that she heard her, but Caroline was almost certain she had. “You can just nod if it hurts to talk, Trudy, but I need to know the truth. Did someone run you off the road?”

  “Please…”

  Trudy’s voice was so weak that Caroline had to put her ear to Trudy’s mouth. “What is it?”

  “Please don’t…tell anyone…what I told you about that man.”

  “It’s okay, Trudy. You’ll be safe. The police will make sure of that. That beast won’t hurt you again.”

  Trudy groaned and lifted her arm a few inches before letting it drop back to the ground.

  “Get my…mother.”

  “I will, Trudy. I promise. I’ll get her right away. Just tell me one thing. Was the man who ran you off the road the one you told me about?”

  “I don’t know…anything.”

  The ambulance arrived then and the paramedics rushed toward them. Sam pulled Caroline to her feet. “You tried. That’s all you can do.”

  “I caused this, Sam.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “Get that out of your head right now. Start thinking like that and you won’t last a year as a reporter. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Tell that to Trudy. Caroline started to go to her car, then realized hers was still at the firing range. Her reporter instincts, new as they were, clicked back in, and she watched and scribbled down a few observations while Trudy was lifted into the ambulance.

  The killer hadn’t wanted Trudy to talk, but why had he run her off the road, instead of cutting her throat the way he had Sally’s and Ruby’s? That way he could have been certain she wouldn’t live to talk. Or had he only meant to frighten her?

  And where was he now? Nearby? Watching Trudy being loaded into the ambulance, studying every move the cops made? A cold shudder shot through Caroline. Whether the killer was nearby or not, she knew he wasn’t through with her or Trudy yet.

  SAM STARTED back up the incline, dead tired and with a throbbing pain over his right temple. This case was taking its toll on his sleep and his health. Brutal, senseless ones like this always did.

  To no one’s surprise, Caroline had been right on target. This was not a case of simply getting distracted and running the car off the shoulder and down the hill. Skid marks, tire tracks, paint smears and the pattern of dents on the car all indicated that the young woman had been deliberately run off the road. And minutes after she’d given a very sketchy description to Caroline.

  And now Caroline was convinced that this was her fault. He had to talk some sense into her before she let the maniac suck her into his deadly scheme. She was innocent and vulnerable enough to believe she could handle him.

  And beliefs like that would get her killed.

  Sam scanned the area and spotted Caroline leaning against his car, writing in a black notebook. There was blood smeared on the front of her sweater and even some on the side of her face. She didn’t seem to notice. She still didn’t look tough enough to be a reporter, but she was plucky as hell, that was for sure. And…

  He wasn’t sure what else, except that she sure had a way of getting to him. Even now when she was standing yards away and paying him no heed. Hair blowing into her face, skirt twisted, sexy boots caked with blood and mud.

  And still he couldn’t think of anything he’d like to do more than pick her up in his arms and carry her home with him.

  “Anything else?” Matt asked, catching up to Sam.

  “Did you alert the local cops and state troopers to be on the lookout for a black vehicle with a dented fender smeared with gray paint?”

  “Yeah. And I have word going out to all the auto-body shops, as well. If they get anything suspicious in, I told them to call me pronto.”

  “What about the injured woman’s family?”

  “We reached Trudy Mitchell’s mother, but she’d already gotten the news from the reporter chick. Mrs. Mitchell’s at the hospital now.”

  “Good, and I want a guard at Trudy’s hospital door. If this was attempted murder, I don’t want the guy to walk in and finish what he started.”

  “As soon as she’s stabilized, they’re taking her to an Atlanta hospital.”

  “Then talk to the Atlanta PD. They’ve already volunteered any help we need with this case.”

  “So you’re going to let them know you think this could be connected to the two murders?”

  “I’d like it kept quiet, but eventually it’ll get out. It always does.”

  “What about the Times reporter?” Matt nodded toward Caroline.

  “What about her?”

  “Do you want me to give her a ride back to her car?”

  “No. I’ll handle that.”

  Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not falling for the reporter chick, are you?”

  “Are you kidding?” Sam answered, avoiding a direct lie. “But she has a name. You can call her Caroline or Ms. Kimberly, if that’s not stretching your vocabulary capabilities too much.”

  “Ouch. So she is getting to you. Not your type, though, Sam. Better leave these young, hot ones to an experienced guy like me.”

  “An
y more hot ones, and you’ll be burned out before you hit forty.”

  “Yeah, but what a way to go.”

  Caroline looked up as Sam approached. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Nothing left now but for Trudy’s car to be towed.”

  “Good. I just need a ride back to my car.”

  “I thought we could go to my place first, have a cup of coffee and talk. It’s practically on the way.”

  “Your place? I must have heard that wrong. Did I actually hear Detective Sam Turner invite a reporter to his domicile?”

  “Yeah, but don’t let it get out. It would ruin my reputation.”

  “Front-page news. Tomorrow’s headlines.”

  “Then I guess I better give you something scandalous to write about.”

  SAM’S PLACE was only a couple of miles down the road from where Trudy’s car had gone off. His house was set back in the trees on the rocky edge of the river. The structure was a mix of cedar and local stone, more like a rustic fishing lodge than a house.

  It had two levels, but the first was open and mostly garage and storage for a deep blue bass boat and all the usual paraphernalia fishermen kept on hand.

  A rust-red retriever stretched from its nap under a wild plum tree when they approached, then came loping over to meet his master. Sam stopped to rub his hands over the dog and give him a couple of solid pats on the rump.

  The dog lapped it up for a second, then turned his attention to Caroline. She stooped and took his head in her hands, running her fingers through the glossy hair on the back of his neck. He licked her hands in appreciation. “You are just a sweetheart, you are,” she crooned. He nudged his nose between her breasts. “But we don’t know each other well enough to get that personal.” She looked up at Sam. “What’s his name?”

  “Brewsky.”

  “As in beer?”

  “Yeah. He wandered up and staked out a corner of my porch one night. Flopped down just like he owned the place. If I hadn’t had a few too many beers, I’d never have let him stay.”

  “That’s okay, Brewsky. If the detective decides he doesn’t want you, you can come home with me.”

  Actually a dog wasn’t a bad idea, she thought, especially now that she had room for one. She’d always wanted a pet, but they’d been against the rules where she’d grown up.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Sam said, gesturing to a den off the front hall as they walked into the house. “I’ll put on some coffee and be right back.”

  “I’d like to freshen up a bit, at least wash my hands and face.”

  “The bathroom’s down the hall. There are clean cloths and towels in the cupboard under the sink.”

  “Thanks.” Caroline found the bathroom and scrubbed the blood from her face. It must have gotten on her when she’d leaned in close to hear Trudy’s whisper. She scrubbed her hands, as well, then finger-combed her windblown hair. And that was as good as she could do without a change of clothes.

  She returned to the den. It was a man’s room, dominated by a cypress-beamed ceiling, dark-paneled walls and massive leather furniture. The combination would have made the room rather dark and forbidding, except that the back wall was almost solid windows with a view of the river and the woods beyond.

  The only wall decorations were two huge fish trophies and a stuffed buck’s head sporting a full rack of antlers. No knickknacks. Instead, the coffee table was stacked with newspapers and books. And sitting on a shelf was a lone photograph in a silver frame.

  Caroline crossed the room for a closer look. The photograph was of a young woman, petite, with striking eyes. The blond hair was shoulder-length, straight and shiny. She had an almost regal nose and sensual lips. The photograph was signed, “Love always, Peg.”

  Love always, and hers was the only photograph in the room. Caroline wondered if she was still in Sam’s life or if she was a past lover—or an ex-wife—he’d never gotten over. It bothered her, but there was no reason to think it was any of her business. Just because Sam had kissed her senseless once didn’t mean they had some kind of relationship.

  But she wasn’t so naive that she didn’t know when a man found her attractive. There was a sizzle between her and Sam, even when they argued. And now she was here, in his house for coffee—and talk. And the truth was she wouldn’t be sorry at all if he kissed her again.

  In the middle of a crime wave with the killer fixating on her, it would be nice to have someone to hold on to. Not that she’d ever had someone before. Life in an orphanage just didn’t work that way. And she couldn’t let herself start counting on it now.

  WHEN SAM RETURNED to the den with the two cups of coffee, Caroline was standing by the fireplace staring at the photograph of Peg. The irony of the situation was disturbing. Fortunately Caroline didn’t ask any questions and he wasn’t about to offer any explanations. There was no explaining Peg.

  “I like your house,” Caroline said, “especially the view. Do you own or rent?”

  “It’s all mine. I was looking for a place to get away from it all when I moved back to Georgia. This seemed like it. I’ll probably keep it as a retreat, but I’m thinking of moving back into town to be closer to the job.”

  “Do you have family in Georgia?”

  “Not anymore, which seemed like reason enough to move back.”

  “I take it you didn’t get along with your family too well.”

  “You’ve heard of dysfunctional families? Mine was the prototype.”

  “But you must have some good memories of family life.”

  “There were nights my mom and stepdad didn’t have a major brawl. I thought that was pretty good back then.” Sam didn’t know why he was talking about family at all. He usually didn’t. But it was so far in the past now that it didn’t seem to have the same hold on him, especially with R.J. in prison.

  “Did you have brothers and sisters?”

  “I had a stepbrother, though I didn’t know about him until he was sixteen years old. I was eleven at the time.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “My stepdad was his father. He decided he didn’t like responsibility, so he just walked off and left his wife and baby. His wife decided she didn’t like responsibility, either, so she walked off and left, too. R.J. was eighteen months old at the time. A little too young to make a living for himself, so the authorities put him in an orphanage in northern Georgia.”

  “Poor guy.”

  Caroline’s mood seemed to take a nosedive. Why in hell was he talking about this after what she’d been through the past few days? “It’s history,” he said dismissively, hoping she’d drop the subject. But apparently she wasn’t ready to do that.

  “Did you and your stepbrother become friends when you finally met?”

  “Depends on what you call friends. He used me for a punching bag and ran off all my friends. Used to threaten my mother when she wouldn’t give him money for drugs. Which was pretty much all the time because she needed the money to buy her own drugs.”

  “You weren’t kidding about your family being dysfunctional, were you.”

  “Not a thing I’d kid about.”

  “What happened to R.J.?”

  “He robbed a liquor store one night, not his first, I’m sure. But that night he ran into a little problem. A cop showed up before he could make his getaway. R.J. shot and killed him. Now are you sorry you asked about my family?”

  “It is a horror story.”

  “And that’s probably the nicest thing you could say about it.”

  “Did R.J. go to prison?”

  “Yeah. For life. His was my first case after I made homicide detective.”

  “I’m surprised they gave you a case involving a family member.”

  “It’s a long story.” And one that touched on too many other memories for him to handle tonight. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant.”

  The silence between them grew awkward, mainly because they had nothing in common that was pleasant. They’d met at a
murder scene, and every meeting since had been entangled with the killer’s actions. Everything except the kiss and the awareness level that seemed to soar whenever she was near.

  But he had to stay cool and focus on the real reason he’d invited her over today. He had to convince her to keep up her guard at all times and not to even think of trying anything on her own. At least, that was what he’d told himself the reasons were. Now that she was here, his motives were a lot less clear.

  He wanted her safe, but he also wanted to reach across the leather couch and pull her into his arms. He wanted to muss her hair and feel her lips on his. He wanted…

  He wanted to make love with her and yet he didn’t dare. Relationships were like a foreign language to him. He’d never seen a normal one growing up, and the only one he’d ever been in had happened before he ever thought about it. And when it ended, it had all but destroyed him. He’d had seven years to pick up the pieces, and he wasn’t sure they were all picked up yet.

  “Talk to me, Sam. I can tell something’s on your mind. Just say it.”

  “I was thinking that you look great in that color.”

  “No, you weren’t. You were thinking something far more serious. Your lips always stretch into thin lines when you’re upset.”

  “You know me too well.” He set his cup on the pine coffee table. “You worry me the way you keep thinking that there’s something you can do that will keep the killer from striking again.”

  “He’s trying to connect with me, Sam. You can’t deny that.”

  “A dangerous lunatic is obsessed with you. That’s not a situation that can be handled by the two of you having a little talk. There’s no way of knowing what drives him over the edge. It could be something as simple as a woman resisting his passes—or thinking she can reason with him.”

  “I promise I won’t do anything irresponsible.”