Manhunt

She breathed a sigh of relief as he left the kitchen. Her stomach had been in a knot since the moment he had said good morning. It was the visions, she told herself, and the fear of what might happen, that created the twist in her tummy. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was as handsome as the devil and charming as could be.

Within a half an hour the Harolds had joined Nick. The Harolds were a couple from Kansas City who were staying in the green room. They had been here for two nights and were checking out at noon that day.

As Alyssa filled the table with an array of breakfast foods, she listened to how easily Nick conversed with the older couple on a variety of topics.

He was as charming with them as he’d been with her and that made her feel better. He probably hadn’t been flirting with her at all, he’d just been being himself and that just happened to be exceptionally charismatic.

Within thirty minutes Virginia Maxwell had joined the group. Virginia, a pretty blonde, was the wife of the first victim of the serial killer. She’d moved into the bed-and-breakfast almost immediately after her husband’s murder, and was staying in the pink room.

The fourth person who rented a room from Alyssa rarely made it down for breakfast with anyone else. Michael Stanmeyer was something of a recluse. He’d been a guest of Alyssa’s for the past two years and he usually came down the stairs to the dining room after all the other guests had eaten.

From the kitchen, she heard Nick’s deep voice, although she couldn’t make out what he had said, but Virginia’s peals of tinkling laughter grated on her nerves.

In the three months Virginia had stayed here, Alyssa had found herself alternating between feeling sorry for the pretty woman and wanting to wring her neck.

She gathered up the last of the freshly baked biscuits and took them out to set on the table. “So, Ms. Whitefeather, when do you eat breakfast?” Nick asked.

“Ms. Whitefeather…my, how formal. Call her Alyssa and you can call me Virginia,” Virginia said. “And this is Dave and Cindy.” She gestured to the couple, who beamed at Nick with smiles that looked surprisingly alike. “And even though you’ll probably never see him, weird Michael is in the purple room.”

“Weird Michael?” Nick raised a dark eyebrow quizzically and looked at Alyssa.

“Michael Stanmeyer, and he isn’t weird. He’s just extremely shy.” Alyssa wanted to glare at Virginia, but instead she kept her focus on Nick. “Mr. Stanmeyer is a very nice man.”

“Speaking of nice men…” Nick looked at his watch and pushed away from the table. “I’ve got a couple of my friends to meet. I hope you all have a pleasant day.”

Alyssa could have sworn his gaze lingered on her for just a moment longer than on the others and she felt the beginning of a headache thrum at her temples.

No, she thought desperately. She was not going to have a vision…not here…not now. She had to control it. She had to suppress it. She’d done it before, felt the pressure of a vision trying to get through and had managed to back it away.

What she needed to do was get away…escape to the isolation of the kitchen where she could focus on refusing the vision entry into her mind.

“Excuse me, I forgot something…” She ran for the kitchen and sat on the stool where she had been sitting when Nick had first entered the room.

Gripping the edge of the countertop, she closed her eyes and fought against the dizzying blackness that sought to possess her. “No,” she whispered, the words a half sob.

But, no matter how hard she fought, the blackness came and immediately following the dark was a vision…the vision. Nick’s lips on hers, his hands stroking heat into every area he touched and finally her begging him to take her, to make love to her.

Then, as always happened, the scene changed, transformed into something ugly and violent. Nick’s face twisted with surprise and pain as she stabbed him and his blood splattered.

She came to on the kitchen floor, her hip aching from where she must have banged it when she slipped from the stool.

She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but she could still hear the sounds of the guests chatting and laughing in the dining room. Thank good ness. Nobody had seen. Nobody knew.

Two in two days. That wasn’t a good sign. She’d never had two visions so close together, first the one last night as she’d touched the bed where Nick would be sleeping, and now this one. Two in two days.

She had a feeling Nick’s presence had stirred the psychic winds and they were blowing cold through her one right after another.

The Cherokee Corners Police Station was housed in a low brick building that looked relatively new, but Nick supposed that was the glory of brick…it always managed to look relatively new. It was located two blocks off the city square on a quiet tree-lined street.

His two-man team was already waiting for him, sitting in the confines of the air-conditioning in Bud’s sports car. They both got out of the car as Nick pulled into the parking space beside them.

Bud Johnson, a tall, good-looking man with streaked blond hair, grinned at Nick. “There he is, looking fine and fit. Probably just ate a big breakfast at that fancy bed-and-breakfast he’s staying at.”

Nick nodded. “Eggs and toast, biscuits and gravy, muffins the size of your fist and all the sausage and bacon I could eat.”

“You pig,” Tony Marcelli exclaimed. Tony was a handsome man with two ex-wives that he claimed were bleeding him dry with alimony payments. “We had a couple of stale doughnuts and a cup of the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted.”

“I highly recommend Ruby’s Café for your dining needs. I ate there yesterday for lunch and dinner, and both meals were terrific,” Nick replied.

As if on cue the three of them turned and faced the police station. “Well, guess it’s time to go meet the locals,” Nick said.

Together the three of them entered the police station. The man behind the front desk eyed them curiously. “We’re here to see Chief Glen Cleburg,” Nick said and flashed his badge.

“Oh sure.” The officer rose and opened the secured door that led down a hallway. “The chief’s office is the second door on the left. He’s waiting for you.”

Nick led his team down the hallway to the closed door. He knocked and waited for a response, then opened and met the man he’d be working with for however long it took to catch their killer.

Glen Cleburg was a big man with graying dark hair and hazel eyes. Lines of stress bracketed his thin lips.

Initial introductions were made, then the men got right down to business. “We’d like to set up a six-man task force, including the three of us and three men from your department,” Nick explained. The chief nodded. “Perhaps you have suggestions as to who you want on the team.”

“Definitely Clay James,” Cleburg said without hesitation. “He’s head of our crime scene unit and is as bright as they come. He even runs a small lab in the back of the building.”

“You have a crime scene unit here in Cherokee Corners?” Bud asked in surprise. It was rare for a town so small to have trained crime scene investigators and particularly ones trained in forensic science.

“Yes, my predecessor, Thomas James, foresaw Cherokee Corners growing into a town that would eventually need well-trained police officers in all areas of law enforcement. I encourage my men to get all the education they can.”

“That’s commendable, sir,” Nick replied.

“As far as the other two members of the team, I’ll leave that up to Clay’s discretion. He can decide who he wants working with you.” Glen rose from his desk and motioned for them to follow him out of the office.

“I’ve set up a room for you to use. Unfortunately, space is not a commodity around here, so the room is rather small, but it’s the only place I could free up indefinitely.”

They all followed Cleburg down the hall to a room that had apparently been used as a classroom of sorts. It was, indeed, small, but one wall held a blackboard, and the other held a corkboard. It would be perfect for how Nick liked to work his task forces.

“I’ve had a separate phone and fax line put in and I’m having some of the other officers bring in a couple of computers for your use.” Glen frowned. “Unfortunately, you’ll find our computer system rudimentary. We’ve just gone from paper files to computers in the last couple of months and the automation is an ongoing process.”

“We’ll manage,” Nick assured him. Each of the agents had his own personal computer tied into every main computer for sharing information among law officials across the country. “What I’d like to do now is meet Clay James and get started.”

“Of course,” Glen said quickly. Again he gestured them down the hallway. “I must warn you, Clay is long on smarts, but sometimes he’s short on patience and social skills.”

“We’re used to that sort with Tony here,” Bud said. “He’s our resident Neanderthal man.” He clapped Tony on the back.

Nick smiled at the interplay between the two men who had been partners for the last five years. The three of them worked well together, often played hard together and despite their teasing, held one another in great esteem. Nick only hoped the three men that would join them from the Cherokee Corners personnel would work well with them also.

They found Clay James seated at a desk in the lab area. He looked up as they entered, a frown of irritation crossing his darkly handsome face. It was there only a moment then gone as he eyed the three men that accompanied his chief. He stood.

“Clay, these men are the FBI agents that are going to work the task force.” Again introductions were made and hands were shaken.

As Nick gripped Clay in a firm handshake, he saw in the man’s dark eyes a keen intelligence that assured him he would be a good addition to their team. He also noticed the black, shiny hair, the equally black eyes and the burnished skin tones that instantly made him think of Alyssa Whitefeather.

He’d hoped to win a smile from her this morning. He wasn’t sure why it had become important to him, but he wanted to see her smile. He wanted to see those lush lips of hers curve upward and a spark light the depths of her velvet-blue eyes.

She’d looked so pretty that morning when he’d first seen her from the doorway. Wearing a pale yellow sundress, as she was, and with her hair tied at the nape of her neck with a matching yellow ribbon, he’d wanted to sneak up behind her and place his lips on the vulnerable bared skin just beside her gathered hair.

He yanked his thoughts back to the moment. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Clay James. “What we’re wanting to put together here is a six-man task force consisting of the three of us and you and two other Cherokee Corners officers.”

“I told them you can decide who you want working with you, Clay,” Glen said. “Maybe Collins and Sheller or Cavannaugh or Winter.”

“Not Sheller,” Clay said with a definite tone of voice. “Collins and Winter will be fine.”

“I’ll leave you two to get to work,” Glen said. “But I want to make it clear that I expect to be updated daily and want to be aware of everything concerning these murders.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway.

“The chief showed me the room where we’ll be working. Do you want to gather up your other men and meet us in there?” Nick asked. “We’d like to get set up and at work immediately.”

Clay nodded. “I’ll find the other two officers and we’ll meet you in there in about ten minutes.”

The men parted, Bud and Tony following behind Nick as they headed back out the front door of the police station. “We’ll get our equipment inside and set up, then spend the afternoon going over the files,” Nick said.

The other two men nodded and headed for their car while Nick went to his own. From the back seat he grabbed the case that held his computer and his briefcase, then went inside to the room where Glen had said they could set up the team.

In the room, the first thing he did was place a long table in the center. This would be the pulse of the room, where he knew in the coming days the men would spend far too much time going over facts, speculating on possibilities and brainstorming together.

Another long table he placed against the back wall, where computers would be up and running, logged into systems that would tell them about similar crimes and the background of potential suspects, among other things.

He’d just started tacking up photos of the victims, when Clay and his two men entered the room. Clay introduced Nick to Simon Collins and John Winter. Collins was tall, pale, with sandy hair and a ready grin. John Winter looked Native American, his dark features expressing less openness than Collins, but still a reserved friendliness.

When Bud and Tony entered the room, introductions were made all the way around, then everyone got to work. By noon they had the room set up as a sort of war room. The corkboard held the victim and crime scene photos. Computers were plugged in and at the ready and a phone number had been established for the phone line, another for the fax line.

Nick looked around in satisfaction. They were ready to begin the process of finding a killer. The men were all seated at the table in the center of the room looking at Nick expectantly. “It’s vitally important that the six of us work as a team. I don’t believe in egos getting in the way of the investigation. We work this as a team and we solve it as a team.”

He sensed the others’ satisfaction with his words. He’d worked too many task forces, and in his experience had learned that there was no room for hot-shots. He had no patience for men who worked for personal gain instead of for the common good of the team to achieve their objective.

“We all sit at this table with strengths and weaknesses,” Nick continued. “Clay, you and John and Simon bring to the table the fact that this is your town. You know it and the people and that’s vital if the killer is a local.”

For the next several hours the men reviewed the facts of each murder, discussing the victims, the circumstances surrounding the deaths and any forensic evidence that had been found.

It was after five when they wound up. “We’ll make it an early day today,” Nick said. “But, I’ll warn you in advance, you might want to tell your wife, your girlfriend or your significant other that from here on out you’re on duty twenty-four hours a day. We’ll be working long hours and I’ll want each one of us to carry cell phones so we’re only a call away from one another at any time of the day or night.”

As the men gathered up their paperwork and got ready to leave, Nick turned to Clay. “Can I buy you a drink?” Nick figured it wouldn’t hurt to foster a little goodwill with the man who he knew would probably prove invaluable to the team.

“Sure,” Clay replied. “A beer would taste good right now.”

The two men walked out of the police station together. “You’ll have to help me out here. Since I’ve been in town, the only place I’ve been is to Ruby’s Café and I didn’t notice beer on the menu.”

Clay smiled. “No, but if you go in after six at night, you’ll probably smell it on her breath. The best place for a beer and a little quiet talk is Sanford’s. It’s just down the block. We can walk there.”

For a moment the two men walked in silence. Nick had already sized Clay up as a highly intelligent man with a knack for finding evidence when none seemed to have been left behind. He had a feeling Clay still hadn’t made up his mind about what kind of man Nick might be.

That was all right. Nick didn’t trust a man who jumped to conclusions too quickly. “Heard your family recently went through a pretty traumatic experience,” Nick said.

Clay looked at him in surprise. “Where’d you hear that?”

“When I spoke with Chief Cleburg initially he told me that he intended for you to work with me and he told me about your mother’s kidnapping. He also told me that if it hadn’t been for your stubborn diligence and work, she might have never been found.”

“Thankfully, we found her before she suffered any physical harm,” Clay replied.

“How’s she doing now?”

Clay’s mouth curved up in a grin. “You’d have to know my mother to understand that she’s a survivor. She’s exactly like she was before the kidnapping…enjoying life and her family.”

“That’s good to hear,” Nick said as they entered the darkened interior of Sanford’s. It was a typical small-town tavern, with pool tables in the back, a layer of thick smoke hanging in the air and a bar counter that had probably felt a thousand elbows resting on it.

Clay motioned to the bar and the two men slid onto stools. They ordered their drinks from a burly bartender who appeared to double as bouncer, as well.

“Are you staying out at the motel?” Clay asked.

“No, I’m staying at the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast here on the square,” Nick replied.

“Ah, my cousin’s place.”

Nick looked at him in surprise. “Alyssa Whitefeather is your cousin?”

“A close cousin. My mother raised her from the time she was eleven. She’s more like another sister than a cousin.” Clay took a sip of his beer, then continued. “I want you to know I intend to put all my time and energy into finding the bastard who’s killing the men of our town,” Clay said. “But the first thing I need to do is request Saturday off duty. I’m getting married that day.”

“Married? And you’re just asking for one day off?”

“My fiancée, Tamara, knows how important this case is. I’ve promised her a real honeymoon when we catch this creep.” Clay wrapped his hands around his beer glass. “You know, most of the town is going to turn out for the wedding. Maybe you should come, see the town people at play.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on such a personal ceremony,” Nick protested.

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be an intrusion, but if you are uncomfortable coming alone, I’ll set it up with Alyssa and the two of you can come together.”

Nick instantly felt a spike in his adrenaline, although he fought to keep his enthusiasm for the idea out of his voice. “Isn’t it possible she might already have an escort?”

“Alyssa? Nah, she never dates. I’m sure she’s planning on going alone.”

“Then that would be great. I could have a look at the folks there and won’t feel so out of place if I’m with a family member.”

“Then consider it done. I’ll call Alyssa tonight and set it up with her.”

“Alyssa…is she on medication for her epilepsy?” Nick asked.

There was no mistaking the blank look in Clay’s dark eyes. “Epilepsy?” he repeated slowly, as if the word was utterly foreign to his vocabulary.

“Yeah, I walked in on her last night and she was, like, in a trance. I asked her if she had epilepsy and was having some sort of seizure and she said yes.”

“So, she told you she has epilepsy? No, she isn’t on any kind of medication.” Clay lifted the beer glass to his lips, his gaze focused away from Nick.

And in that instant Nick suspected that Alyssa Whitefeather didn’t have epilepsy at all. She’d lied to him, and Clay was merely trying to cover her tracks. Interesting.

If she didn’t have epilepsy…if she hadn’t been suffering a petit mal seizure when he’d seen her in his room the night before, then what had she been doing? Why had she appeared like a woman in a trance…a woman completely gone from the real world and its surroundings?

The only answer could be she was hiding something from him. But why?

Chapter 4

Livid and a little bit afraid…it was the only way to describe the emotions that roared through Alyssa as she dressed for Clay and Tamara’s wedding early Saturday morning.

She couldn’t believe that Clay had manipulated her into bringing Nick along. She didn’t want to go with him, didn’t want to spend any time in his company. She wanted nothing at all to do with the man.

It was bad enough that for the last two mornings he’d been the first one up, forcing her to interact with him without buffers between them. She’d been pleasant but short, not encouraging small talk.

However, that didn’t keep her from being intensely aware of his every movement when she served him in the mornings. Despite his initial claim not to be a breakfast eater, for the last two mornings he’d enjoyed a big serving of her biscuits and gravy. He was a neat eater, never leaving behind a mess.

Neat eater or not, as far as she was concerned, it was vital that she keep as much distance from the man as possible. Her plan for the day was to escort him to the wedding, introduce him to people, then leave him to his own devices until the wedding celebration was over.

As she brushed her hair, she realized that it was difficult to hang on to her foul mood. It was rare she took a day off and even more rare that she got to enjoy a traditional ceremony with friends and loved ones.

Mary had agreed to come in this morning and take care of the breakfast preparations and run the business for the entire day, leaving Alyssa free to simply enjoy the wedding of her best friend, Tamara Greystone, and her cousin, Clay.

She finished brushing her hair and stepped back from the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically. She had considered wearing a traditional Cherokee tear dress, but at the last minute had changed her mind.

There would be plenty of people wearing traditional clothing today, but Alyssa had opted for a cool mint-green sundress. Dainty white hoops decorated her earlobes and white sandals completed the outfit.

She looked at her watch. Almost eight. It was time to go. Nick had been surprised when she’d told him the night before that she would be leaving the house around eight in the morning.

She had a feeling he had no idea what he was in for, had probably never experienced a traditional Cherokee wedding ceremony. As far as Alyssa was concerned, there was nothing more beautiful, more spiritual and filled with more community bonding than a Cherokee wedding.

Looking at her watch again, she realized she couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to leave her private quarters and take Nick to a wedding.

He was waiting for her in the front foyer, looking cool and far too sexy in a beige, lightweight suit that complemented his blue eyes and dark hair. “Ready?” she asked briskly.

His gaze swept her, beginning at the top of her hair, down to the sandals on her feet, and a smile of appreciation turned his lips upward into one of his sexy smiles. “I’ll be the most envied man at the wedding,” he said.

Despite her desire to the contrary, Alyssa felt the warmth of a blush sweep over her features. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“I’ll drive if you’ll provide directions to the church.”

He pulled his car keys out of his pocket.

“All right, but we aren’t going to a church.”

Together they left by the back door, where his car was parked in the small lot behind the bed-and-breakfast. “Where are we going if not to a church?” he asked.

“The Cherokee Cultural Center,” she replied. “Clay and Tamara are being married in a traditional ceremony.” She tried not to freeze as he opened the passenger door for her, standing close enough that she could smell his cologne but not so close that they might inadvertently touch.

She didn’t want him to touch her in any way, was afraid a single touch might bring on the vision and she wanted nothing to mar the happiness of the day.

She slid into her seat and watched as he walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side. His suit hung on him as if it had been made to fit his broad shoulders and slender hips.

She grabbed her seat belt and buckled it around her. A man as handsome as he was would be married. He probably had a good woman and two or three kids at home, waiting for him to return from his field trip. Meanwhile, he probably flirted with every female in sight when he was in the field, or had meaningless affairs while away from home.

By the time he slid in behind the steering wheel, Alyssa was working up a case against him, anything to keep him at a mental and physical distance.