Manhunt

He moved the vase filled with fresh-cut flowers from the center of the table to the top of the dresser, then set his briefcase on the table and opened it.

Inside were copies of files from the Cherokee Corners Police Department…the reasons he and his team had been requested to come to town. His two-man team would arrive tomorrow, the date when the chief of police, Glen Cleberg, was expecting them.

A serial killer was terrorizing Cherokee Corners, and after four murders, Chief Cleburg had finally called the FBI for help.

As a criminal profiler, Nick had seen more than his share of evil. As a man he’d tasted the horror of evil in his personal life. That particular horror had begun to fade with the passing of time.

Grief over Dorrie’s ugly death didn’t fill his every waking hour as it had in the days and weeks after her murder, but the rage had never left him.

He refused to allow the grief or rage to take hold of him now. He had a job to do here, and in order to do it to the best of his ability he had to remain unemotional and detached. In order to be successful he had to attempt to immerse himself in the life, the mind and the very evil of the murderer at work in this place.

One of the reasons Nick had decided to come a day earlier than his team was because he knew how important it was to get a feel for the town, for the people where a serial killer was at work. He liked giving himself a little time to soak up the local ambience before he dived into the task-force work.

With this thought in mind he opened the first file folder. He’d already read them all half a dozen times, but he’d continue to reread them until he had every fact, every piece of evidence and every nuance of the crimes completely memorized.

If his stomach hadn’t started protesting the absence of food, he probably would have sat at the small table in the corner of the room halfway through the night.

When he could no longer ignore the emptiness and rumbling, he looked at his wristwatch, surprised to realize it was almost seven o’clock.

As Mary had led him to his room, she’d given him a quick rundown on the bed-and-breakfast routine. Breakfast was served in the main dining room between the hours of six and nine in the morning.

The front door was locked at ten o’clock but the guests were given a key to the back door, where they could come and go as they pleased no matter what the hour.

The amenities that came with the room, not counting breakfast itself, were fresh flowers in the room daily, fresh-squeezed lemonade, sun tea and cookies every afternoon on the veranda and turndown service at night if requested.

At the moment Nick wasn’t interested in anything other than dinner. The burger he’d had at noon had been great, so he decided Ruby’s was the place for dinner, as well.

He left the of all the establishments on the street. The August heat created a rather unpleasant odor in the alley as he passed several trash bins that likely contained spoiled food.

He followed the alley around the square, noting entrances and exits as he walked. All four victims of the killer had been left at various points in the center square. The alley made an easy, accessible escape route for the killer.

When he reached the back of Ruby’s restaurant, he walked around the side of the building, from the alley to the front sidewalk and the door.

Ruby still stood at the cash register and her broad face beamed when he walked through the door. “Ah, a repeat customer. That’s a good sign,” she said.

He grinned. “It was a piece of great apple pie and I’m hoping you offer something equally as appetizing for your dinner meals.”

“You look like a steak man. We’ve got a great sirloin meal in the evenings. And you’re in luck, most of the dinner crowd has thinned out, so you can have your choice of a table or a booth.”

Nick quickly perused the place. “A table,” he said. The tables were in the center of the room.

“You got it.” Ruby left the register and grabbed a menu from a stack, then led him to a small table for two. “This all right?”

“Perfect.” He accepted the menu from her and smiled his thanks.

“How about a cup of coffee to start you off?”

“Sounds great.”

Moments later Nick sat at the table alone, sipping his coffee while he waited for his steak dinner to arrive. If the cops in the town were as friendly as the other folks, it would make Nick’s time here much more pleasant.

A young couple sat next to him and he couldn’t help but overhear the argument they were engaged in.

“You promised me no more evening meetings until after the killer is caught,” the young woman said, her voice emotional.

“I know, honey, but tonight can’t be helped. It was the only time Mr. Maynard could meet with us.”

Nick tuned out the conversation, but it intrigued him nevertheless. It was the first time he’d heard anyone mention the killer that plagued the town.

He could understand the fear of the women in town…fear for their male friends, boyfriends or husbands. So far all the victims had been males between the ages of thirty and forty. They’d been stabbed to death and left naked in a public area around the center square.

The steak was grilled to perfection and the baked potato was just the way he liked it, smothered in real butter and sour cream.

As he ate, he found himself wondering how well he and his team would be greeted by the local law enforcement. Even though it had been the Cherokee Corners chief of police that had requested their help, that didn’t mean the locals would be particularly pleased to have outsiders working the case.

The bad blood between FBI men and city officers had become almost mythical in the passing of years. Usually, everyone managed to work together without ego or territorial battles in order to solve a particular crime…usually, but not always.

It would be interesting to see what kind of welcome they’d receive here in Cherokee Corners. Hopefully, it would be a good one and he wouldn’t have to worry about internal politics or other such nonsense. All he wanted to do was solve this particular case and return to Tulsa and the hunt for the killer named Murphy who had stolen his life.

He was lingering over coffee, when Ruby approached him and motioned to the chair opposite his. “Mind if I join you for a minute?”

“Not at all,” he replied, grateful for a break from his own thoughts.

“Steak okay?”

“Perfect. I think this is going to be my favorite place to eat while I’m in town.”

Ruby nodded and grinned. “Best place in town…although I might be a slight bit prejudiced. Did you get settled in at the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast?”

“I did, and thanks for the recommendation.”

Ruby nodded again, but the smile that had decorated her face fell away. “Cherokee Corners is a nice town. We got a good bunch of people here, a nice mix of Native Americans and white folks. We accept each other and live together in peace.”

Nick wondered where she was going with this particular conversation, but he kept silent as she continued. “Folks help out other folks here. We try to take care of each other, and that’s why I thought I’d better warn you. We got trouble in this town right now and it’s best if you don’t find yourself walking the square after dark.”

“You’re talking about the Shameless Slasher,” he said.

She looked at him in surprise. “Yeah, that’s what the newspaper calls him. Sick animal is more like it. I like you, Nick. I don’t want to see you hurt while you’re in Cherokee Corners. I just thought you needed to know about the danger of men going out after dark.”

He smiled, touched by the woman’s caring. “Actually, the killings are what brought me here. I’m an FBI agent and I’ve been assigned to the case.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ruby exclaimed. “Here I’ve been sitting with an official G-man and didn’t even know it. I thought you boys always wore suits.”

Nick laughed. “In this kind of heat? Not this G-man, at least not until I’m officially on duty, and that isn’t until tomorrow.”

Ruby leaned toward him, bringing with her a powerful scent of perfume. “Are you packing?”

Always,” he said, thinking of the ankle holster that fit snug against the skin beneath his jeans.

Then I guess I won’t worry about you.”

“Hopefully when I finish my work here, you won’t have to worry about anyone,” Nick replied.

A few minutes later he left the café. Night had just begun to fall, shadows usurping the light in the alley first. He didn’t take the alley, but rather walked around the square back to the ice-cream parlor.

All he needed to finish off the good steak meal was a strawberry sundae and maybe a little chat with the intriguing Alyssa Whitefeather.

It was quarter until nine when he walked through the door that he’d first entered earlier in the day. There were several people seated at the round tables, finishing up sodas and ice-cream treats. Alyssa stood behind the counter and her eyes darkened as she saw him enter. If he didn’t know better, he would guess that it was a visceral dislike that sparked from her eyes. But how was that possible? She didn’t know anything about him.

He walked up to the counter and scooted onto a stool and offered her a friendly smile. It was not returned. “What can I get for you, Mr. Mead?”

“How about a strawberry sundae, and please, make it Nick, since I’m going to be staying here for a while.”

She made no comment, but turned her back and began to prepare his ice cream. Her long, dark hair was now pulled back at the nape of her neck, caught and held there by a light blue barrette. Her movements were efficient, but graceful at the same time.

From the back she was quite pleasant to look at, but when she turned to face him, her eyes were fathomless and unfriendly. She set the ice-cream treat in front of him then started to walk away.

“Whom do I talk to about turndown service?” he asked.

She stopped walking and turned back to look at him. She was quite pretty. Her skin appeared flawless, her bone structure delicate, and her lips were full but pressed tightly together at the moment. “That would be me,” she said.

“Great, then I’d like the service.”

“Fine.” Once again she started to move away and once again he stopped her by speaking to her.

“Are you always this friendly with guests or is it just me you don’t particularly like?”

Her cheeks took on a little more color as she drew a deep breath. “It has nothing to do with liking or disliking you. Mr. Mead, I don’t know what brought you to Cherokee Corners, but you should leave.”

The words tumbled from her as if she was unable to help herself. “You shouldn’t be here in this town and you shouldn’t be staying in my bed-and-breakfast.”

Nick wondered if she didn’t know exactly who he was and why he was here. Was it possible she knew something about the murders? “Lady, what in the hell are you talking about?”

Alyssa stared at him, horrified by what she’d said and even more horrified as she realized he expected an explanation from her.

She couldn’t tell him about her visions, he’d think she was some kind of nut. “I just think you should know there is a murderer loose in Cherokee Corners and it isn’t safe for you to be here. It isn’t safe for any men alone to be in town.” There, that didn’t sound too crazy, she thought.

“I know all about the Shameless Slasher.” He picked up his spoon and dipped it into the strawberry-covered ice cream. “That’s why I’m here.”

Alyssa stared at him in surprise. On some level she felt herself examining his sinfully handsome good looks, looking for something that would tell her he was not the man she’d been having the horrible visions about.

His dark hair was clipped neatly, although it had just enough wave to soften the cut. He had a Roman nose and below that a wide mouth with sensual lips. But it was his eyes that made him so striking, those intense blue eyes against the foil of his dark hair and tanned face. Unlike the blue of her eyes, which was dark, more a midnight kind of blue, his were the color of a cloudless summer sky.

The same man. There was absolutely, positively no doubt in her mind that he was the same man who had occupied center stage in her latest bout of visions.

“What do you mean that’s why you’re here?” She finally responded to his words.

“I’m an FBI agent, Alyssa,” he said. “Beginning tomorrow, two other agents will be working with me and your police department to find the killer.”

An FBI agent. Alyssa reeled with this new knowledge. Why had her visions shown her killing an FBI agent who had come to town to offer his expertise in catching the killer?

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” she said absently, then turned to Tina, the teenage girl who helped her out in the evenings. “I’ll be right back.”

Tina nodded and Alyssa hurried through a door that led to the upstairs so she could attend to the turndown service he’d requested.

She took the stairs that led to the four bedrooms on the second level. She could tell that in three of them the occupants had already gone into their rooms for the night. Doorknob hangers read, Do Not Disturb.

The fourth room, what they referred to as the blue bedroom, was Alyssa’s favorite. The furniture was cherrywood antiques in beautiful condition. The double bed was covered with a light blue gingham print and lace-eyelet spread. Light blue curtains hung at the windows and a gingham tablecloth covered the small table in the corner.

Dark blue throw pillows were thrown on the bed for accent and a cobalt-blue vase filled with fresh flowers had been moved from the table to the top of the dresser. The paintings on the wall mixed the shades of blue to tie everything all together in a lovely, peaceful atmosphere.

But there was certainly no peace in Alyssa as she now entered the room. She immediately spied the briefcase on the table. She knew it probably contained reports on the murders that had taken place in Cherokee Corners. She didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to even get close to it. She was afraid of what might happen.

She turned on the bedside lamp and searched in her pocket for the mints she would set on the pillow after she turned down the blankets and prepared the bed for night.

She placed the mints on the nightstand, then folded down the bedspread, exposing crisp pale blue sheets. A headache began across the front of her forehead, a frighteningly familiar headache.

Knowing she needed to get out of the room as quickly as possible, she grabbed the mints and placed them on the pillow.

The instant her fingers made contact with the pale blue pillowcase, she froze, blinded by the vision that swooped over her more swiftly, more vividly than any she’d ever suffered before.

She was in the bed…amid the pale blue sheets, but she wasn’t alone. Nick was with her, his naked body pressed against hers. She could feel the warmth of the solid muscle of his chest against hers and taste the fire in his lips as his mouth took possession of her own.

His hands were everywhere, stroking across her breasts, moving down her ribs, sliding across her hips and creating fiery flames wherever he touched. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before…heights of splendor she’d never climbed. As quickly as a blink of an eye, the scene in her head changed.

She and Nick were no longer in between the pale blue sheets, but rather someplace outside. She recognized nothing about the area, saw a misshapen tree in the distance and smelled the odor of an approaching storm.

In this scene, she and Nick weren’t making love, although she straddled him like a lover. Gripped in her hand was the longest, sharpest knife she’d ever seen and she plunged it over and over again into Nick’s chest.

Blood splattered as she hit him again and again with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. Each time the knife disappeared into his chest a surge of power filled her…a frightening, overwhelming and seductive power.

“Are you all right?”

The deep, male voice pierced through the vision of blood and death and she jumped and whirled around to see Nick standing in the doorway.

It took a moment for her to separate vision from reality. There was a time when her visions left her feeling oddly refreshed and invigorated, but lately they left her drained and half-dizzy, as if she remained in a sort of limbo between the surreal world and the real one.

She knew he had spoken to her, could tell by the look on his face that he awaited a reply. But she couldn’t remember what he’d asked her.

She stepped away from his bed, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. “Excuse me?”

Those eyes of his, those intelligent, intense blue eyes held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity. I asked if you were all right.”

He stepped into the room, closer to her, close enough that she could smell the scent of his cologne. It was a familiar scent. She’d smelled it only moments before when she’d had the vision of the two of them in bed.

“Of course…I was just doing your turndown service.”

He eyed her skeptically. “I stood in the doorway and watched you for almost five minutes. You were frozen like a statue. Are you an epileptic? Do you suffer from seizures?”

Her initial instinct was to tell the truth and say no. But then she realized that might be a perfectly good explanation for the visions she knew would be increasing because of his nearness.

“Yes…I suffer from petit mal seizures,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t be punished for the tiny white lie.

“Are you okay now? Do you need me to get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” What she needed more than anything was to escape this room and his presence.

She still felt the impending doom that the vision had left behind. She feared that Nick Mead’s arrival to the town of Cherokee Corners had put into motion events that would forever change her life.

Chapter 3

It was still dark outside when Alyssa pulled herself out of bed the next morning, still dark when she finished showering and got dressed.

Exhaustion weighed her down as she left her small, private quarters and entered the large kitchen. Now she would begin the process of baking muffins and biscuits, browning sausage and frying bacon and all the other tasks that would result in a breakfast to remember at the Redbud Bed-and-Breakfast.

There had been a time when she’d done these chores with joy, but lately the daily grind was beginning to take its toll on her. She was tired, tired all the time, but this morning the weariness weighed heavier than usual.

Of course, it didn’t help that she got very little sleep the night before, she thought as she rolled out the dough for biscuits. Knowing Nick Mead was beneath her roof had kept sleep at bay.

As she worked, she thought about the handsome FBI agent. Just because she’d had horrible visions about him didn’t mean they would come true. She’d long ago learned not to take what she saw in them at face value.

Sometimes they were just what they were, but other times they were filled with symbolism and meaning she only understood after the events in the vision had come to pass.

But, no matter how she twisted and turned the images her latest vision contained, they still frightened her, especially now that the man in her vision was here in town.

She tried to shove thoughts of Nick and her visions out of her head as she worked. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing in order to make the kind of meal guests had come to expect from her.

Dawn was breaking in the east, a sliver of light peeking over the last of the night clouds when she sat at the island with a cup of coffee.

It was almost six and even though breakfast officially started being served then, guests were rarely up that early. It was usually seven before anyone appeared in the dining room.

This was Alyssa’s favorite time of day, when all the preparations for breakfast were finished and she had these few precious moments to sit and reflect.

It was at this time of the morning when whisper-thin memories of her mother visited her. There were few memories, as Alyssa had lost her mother when she’d been four. But she still remembered a familiar scent, a sweet voice and loving hands roughened from basket weaving.

Her grandmother had been a basket weaver, as well. Alyssa had lived with her maternal grandmother until she was eleven, then her grandmother had passed away and Alyssa had been taken into the James family and raised with Savannah, Breanna and Clay by the loving, exuberant Rita Birdsong James and her husband, Thomas.

“Good morning.”

She gasped and tensed at the familiar deep voice. She turned on her stool to see Nick standing hesitantly in the kitchen doorway.

If she’d thought he looked handsome the night before, today he practically made her breathless. Clad in a lightweight, light gray suit, he looked coolly professional. “Something smells wonderful,” he said.

“If you’ll take a seat in the dining room, I’ll be glad to bring you some breakfast,” she replied.

“Actually, a cup of coffee will do me just fine for the moment.” Without waiting for an invitation, he walked over to the coffeemaker, poured himself a cup of coffee, then carried it over and sat on the stool next to hers at the kitchen island.

He was close enough to her that she could smell the scent of a subtle expensive cologne, see the long, individual lashes that framed those startling blue eyes of his.

Before his bottom was firmly planted on the stool, she jumped up from hers, not wanting to be near him. “Would you care for a muffin or something to eat with your coffee?”

There was a small part of her that resented that he was an early riser, that his presence had cut short the time she always allowed herself to just sit and relax.

There was a small part of her that resented that instead of sitting in the dining room like other guests, he’d invited himself into the kitchen area and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“No, thanks. I’m not much of a morning eater,” he replied, looking as comfortable as if he’d spent the last five years’ worth of mornings sitting in her kitchen.

“If you aren’t a breakfast eater, then you probably would have been better off getting a room at the motel out by the highway. It would have been cheaper.” She sounded like a disgruntled crab even to her own ears.

“Yeah, but they don’t offer turndown service.” His eyes twinkled, and there was a tone to his voice as if he was trying to flirt with her.

She turned her back and stirred a pot of gravy warming on the stove. Drat the man anyway. The last thing she wanted was him flirting with her. The last thing she needed was him having anything to do with her.

“I really prefer if my guests stay out of the kitchen,” she said as she turned back to face him. “You understand, liability reasons.”

“Of course,” he said, but didn’t make a move to stand. He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on her. “You intrigue me, Ms. Whitefeather. I sometimes stay at bed-and-breakfast establishments, and most of the time I find the proprietors cheerful and friendly, or motherly, or overeager to please. You don’t seem to fit the mold.”

His words made Alyssa realize just how odd and unfriendly she’d been around him. Perhaps she was drawing more attention to herself from him than necessary by being so distant and cool.

“I apologize,” she said and forced herself to sit on the stool next to him once again. “I’m usually not unfriendly, although I can tell you I have never wanted to mother any of my guests. You’ve just caught me at a bad time…with the murders happening in town and all.”

Instantly, whatever twinkle had lightened his eyes was doused. Instead, his eyes turned cold, like chunks of blue ice. “It’s been my experience that a murderer on the loose makes everyone on edge.”

He stood, grabbed his coffee cup and smiled. “And now I’ll go into the dining room like a proper guest should do.”