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knew the psycho who had murdered two women in three days would be there, and he didn’t want to put Hope in danger.
The last thing he needed was a partner he had to worry about.
“It’s too late to accomplish anything tonight,” he said, the weariness in his voice real enough. “We’ll let the crime scene techs do their thing, and then we’ll get a fresh start in the morning.”
Hope cocked her head slightly, openly confused. “In the morning?”
“Yeah. In the morning. I’m tired. Let’s get out of here.”
For a moment all was silent but for the ghost on the bed, who continued to chatter about how stupid she had been where people were concerned. She wasn’t going anywhere soon. Not tonight, in any case. As far as he knew, Sherry had already moved on, but this woman would clearly remain earthbound for a while longer.
“You go on,” Hope said. “I’ll stick around here for a while, just in case anything comes up.”
He would feel better if he knew she was home, doors locked behind her, but that wasn’t his concern. Besides, he’d spotted the cord around her neck peeking out a time or two today. She was wearing the protection charm he’d given her.
“See you in the morning,” he said, turning his back on Hope and Lily Clark and the crime scene team that was waiting to go inside the bloody hotel room.
Wait until morning? No way. Two days—no, three—and she already knew that wasn’t Gideon Raintree’s style. Hope left the crime scene techs and trailed discreetly after Gideon. His mind was definitely elsewhere as he climbed into his Mustang and started the engine.
If she followed him in that huge and noisy red Challenger he’d loaned her, he would spot her before he got out of the parking lot. She turned to the closest person, the night manager of the hotel. “Can I borrow your car?”
“What?” he asked, confused and suspicious.
“Your vehicle,” Hope said, offering her hand palm up for the keys. “I’ll have it back as soon as possible, and I’ll fill it up with gas.”
The portly man was still less than certain.
“What am I going to do?” Hope snapped. “Steal it? I’m a cop.”
He pulled his keys out of his pants pocket and reluctantly handed them over. “It’s the gray pickup truck.”
“Thanks.” She ran to the truck, watching Raintree’s taillights as he turned onto Market Street. That was not the way toward home.
This time of night, the streets were all but deserted. There were a few tourists still out and about, enjoying the clubs and the music in the downtown area, but trailing Raintree was easy enough to be problematic. She tried to stay back so he wouldn’t know he was being followed, but she was definitely taking a chance.
There were a few possible scenarios to explain his quick exit from the hotel. He really could just be tired, but in that case he would be driving in the other direction, toward Wrightsville Beach. Maybe he had a date. That was probably it. He had a midnight rendezvous with some bimbo like his neighbor Honey. They were likely all Honey to him. Then again, maybe this was the proof she’d been waiting to find. He was meeting a drug dealer for a payoff. Maybe Lily Clark’s death was connected to the other drug murders Gideon had solved in his time in the Wilmington PD, and he’d found something at the scene that alerted him to the identity of the killer.
It wasn’t part of the plan to like Raintree, so why did she hope so desperately that he was going to meet some airhead for drinks and dancing and a little recreational sex? She didn’t much like the idea, even though she had no claim on him and never would, but it was preferable to finding out that her initial instincts about him had been right and he was crooked. She didn’t want him to be crooked. As he parked his car at the curb, she tried to come up with another scenario. One that didn’t make him crooked or horny.
Hope drove past Raintree as he exited his Mustang, turning her head slightly so he wouldn’t get a look at her face. He was so distracted, he didn’t even glance at her. She turned a corner and parked in front of a closed gift shop, waiting until she saw Gideon in the rearview mirror before she left the truck.
He was headed for the riverfront. Hope stayed a good distance behind him, but close enough that she could always see the back of his head. Even though this area was well lit at night, there were plenty of shadows for her to conceal herself within. Raintree walked slowly, but with purpose and his own special brand of grace, and when he reached a particular section of the boardwalk, he stopped and leaned over the wood railing, looking down over the river.
Here was her most favorable scenario: Gideon wanted a little time alone to ponder the two murders. He was thinking in that odd way he had, winding down, putting together the pieces of the puzzle and not waiting for a Honey or a drug dealer. Hope stayed in the shadows and watched. One older couple passed him but didn’t slow down or acknowledge him in any way other than a quick glance. Gideon continued to stare out over the river, motionless. She began to think this was a perfectly innocent evening…
And then he checked his watch. He was waiting for something. No, someone. Her heart sank, even though she knew she shouldn’t care why he was there or who he had come to meet.
A few minutes later the tall blonde stepped out of the shadows, walking toward Raintree with a purpose of her own. He lifted his head as if he knew she was there long before he could have heard her step.
A woman. She should have known. Men like Raintree didn’t live without female companionship, no matter how dedicated they might be to their jobs. She’d heard him talking to the victim back at the hotel, dragging his eyes away from the body to tell the woman who could no longer hear him that her life mattered, promising to find justice for her. And yet here he was, slipping away from a fresh investigation for a date? It didn’t make sense, but then, what man ever did what was expected of him?
Hope was ready to slip away quietly and return the hotel manager’s pickup without Raintree ever knowing that she’d once again stooped to spying on him when a niggle of warning stopped her.
The woman walking toward Raintree…Her blond hair was long and straight, matching the single strand that had been found on Sherry Bishop’s body. She was taller than average, and moved in a way that advertised that she had muscles and knew how to use them.
And with her left hand she reached inside the jacket she wore and withdrew a long, wicked-looking knife.
SEVEN
