He'd always thought it was a little spooky that Travis had grown up to become a doctor. As far as Hunt was concerned, some of the shit doctors did was a hell of a lot more disgusting than picking up a frog. He'd been doubly surprised when Travis ran for parish coroner. The position wasn't busy in St. Tammany Parish, but just the thought of cutting up some poor dead bastard gave him the heebie-jeebies.
Rising, Hunt started the motor. He took another swig of beer, then picked up the gig. He'd fastened the pronged spear to a long cane pole, which made it perfect for spearing frogs. Carefully, he maneuvered the boat through the shallow water to just the right place, then turned on the light clipped to the bow. Sure enough, right there in front of the boat a little pig frog's head was sticking out of the moss, looking at him. Grinning, Hunt drew back the gig, then slammed it down just behind the sacral hump on the frog's back.
"Gotcha, you little fucker."
He hauled the frog into the boat, then tossed it expeditiously into the bag. In the darkness he didn't see the approaching boat until it was practically on top of him. He straightened to have a look, but the powerful spotlight snapped on and shone right in his eyes. Raising his hand against the glare, he tried to identify who'd approached.
"Hey, cut the light, will you?" he said. "I can't see shit."
"Sorry." The spotlight blinked out.
Surprise rippled through Hunt. "What the hell are you doing out here?"
"Same as you, I guess. Looking for something to kill."
Hunt laughed. "Want a beer?"
"Sure."
Still laughing, Hunt bent to retrieve another Budweiser from the cooler. When he straightened, the spotlight was on again and drilling into his eyes. "Turn off that fucking thing, will you?"
He heard a resonant click an instant before a .22 caliber bullet plowed through his forehead and lodged in his brain.
# # #
Nick's temper was still pumping when he parked the truck in the driveway and shut down the engine. He knew better than to lose his cool, but he'd never had much tolerance for self-righteous jackasses like Travis Ratcliffe.
"You shouldn't have spoken to Travis that way," Nat said from her place on the passenger seat.
"Ratcliffe is a two-faced son of a bitch."
"He's been decent to me."
"Yeah, well, since he's such a sweetheart, maybe he'll go the extra mile and get his sanctimonious old man off your back."
Shaking her head, Nat opened the door and slid to the ground.
Nick sat behind the wheel and glanced .over at her through the open door. "We need to talk about what happened to you."
She slammed the door in his face.
Muttering beneath his breath, he got out of the truck and followed her inside. The house smelled like her. Sweet and warm with a hint of spice. He wondered how she could have such a profound impact on a house after only a few days. How she could fill it up without changing a thing. How she could make it feel like a home with nothing more than her presence.
Without speaking, she left him to take a shower. Nick knew he'd pissed her off, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he resolved to let it go. He wandered to the kitchen and checked the locks on the door and window. He found tea bags and put a kettle on the stove to boil. He heard the shower come on and tried hard not to picture hot water and fragrant soap sluicing over soft flesh. But his willpower failed, and he found himself remembering their encounter earlier in the day.
Her mouth had been wet and hot and full of promise. He remembered the way her breasts had molded beneath his hands. The soft hiss of her sigh in his ear. The tight buds of her nipples against his palms . . .
His response was powerful and primal and stopped him dead in his tracks. He went hard, then stood there wondering what the hell he was going to do about it. Not a damn thing, he assured himself. For now, he needed to focus on keeping her safe. On getting to the bottom of his son's death.
But Nick could feel the reckless need pumping inside him, taunting him. making him want things that would only bring him heartache. "Damn it."
Cursing the-discomfort in his groin, he walked to the dining room. He glanced down at the legal pad on the table. A chill passed through him when he saw the childlike scrawl.
Going to kill hem. In big danger. Help him.
Jason Larue. Find him mommy. The bad man coming.
I’m scared!
The message made the hairs at his nape stand up.
"I see you found tile latest note from Kyle.”
He turned at the sound of her voice to find her standing a few feet behind him. staring at him with eyes that were huge and shadowed with fatigue. She'd changed into a pair of faded jeans and an oversize Tulane sweatshirt. Even from a few feet away, he could smell her. A sweet, ripe scent that reminded him of some exotic tropical fruit. She'd dried her hair, but the ends were still curly and wet. Her complexion was as flawless as porcelain and so pale it was almost translucent.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Better." She gave him a small smile. "Warm."
Even though the sweatshirt was loose, he could see that she wasn't wearing a bra. That made him remember touching her breasts earlier in the day. The memory made him hard again. Made him mad because he knew he wasn't going to do anything about it, and the frustration was starting to make him cranky.
Her sweatshirt was cropped. Not short enough for him to see her navel--which was probably a good thing at this point--but the curves of her hips were visible. He could make out the slight gap between slender thighs. The cleft between her legs. Even her damn feet were sexy. Nick knew he shouldn't be staring. He sure as hell shouldn't be wondering what it would be like to cross the few scant feet between them, peel away all that denim and cotton and lose himself in the beauty of the flesh beneath. But he was aching like he'd never ached before, and for several long moments he couldn't take his eyes off her.
As if realizing where his thoughts had ventured, she wrapped her arms around herself in a protective posture. He cleared his throat, shifted his weight from one foot to the other in an effort to hide the effect she was having on him. "I made tea."
"Oh." She looked flustered for a moment, and he found himself a hell of a lot more charmed than he should have been. "Thank you."
"I figured you could use something hot" Nick walked to the counter and retrieved the cup, then carried it to the kitchen table. "Sit down."
Her gaze went wary as she sank into the chair, and for a moment the only sound came from the grandfather clock in the living room, and the chorus from the bayou coming through the kitchen window.
“Thank you for stepping in when you did earlier," she said. "I mean, with Duncan. You took a huge risk. I don't know how far he would have taken things if you hadn't stopped him."
"He would have crossed a line. He's dangerous. Stay away from him."
"I didn't exactly have a choice tonight."
"You did earlier, when you went to see the LaRues."
Her gaze skittered away. “That couldn't be helped."
"You could have come to me."
''There wasn't any time."
Nick gestured toward the tablet. "I take it you had another trance writing session earlier this evening?"
She nodded. “There was something different about this one."
"How so?"
"It was more intense. And I got a very strong sense that Kyle was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"I'm not sure, but I felt it strongly. He seemed utterly certain that Jason LaRue was in imminent danger. I fell it strongly. That something terrible was about to happen."
"So you went to see Jean and Paulette."
She closed her eyes briefly. "I rushed to the rescue like an utter fool. Nobody believed me, of course. And I can't blame them."
"What happened?"
He listened intently as she explained how she'd approached the LaRues with a warning that their son could be in danger, only to find that he was safe
and sound in the hospital waiting for an appendectomy. "They thought I was a lunatic."
"Duncan showed up?"
She nodded. "It was a bad scene, I knew better than to rush over there. But I was terrified if I didn't something terrible would happen."
Nick understood why she'd done it, There was a part of him that admired her for being so willing to put herself on the line. But he didn't like the way any of this was playing out.
"You can't do that again," he said.
"If I hadn't acted and something terrible happened to that child, I'd never be able to live with myself."
''The children in this town are not your responsibility."
"How can you say that? That's exactly the reason this is happening to me. Think about it, Nick. I've been given the opportunity--the responsibility--to protect children who may be at risk."
"You've accepted a huge responsibility for something you have no control over. That's a losing proposition, chere."
“No it's not. I have control as long as I act--"
"How much control did you have when your car was plunging into that pond?" Angry, Nick rose and strode to the French doors. He hadn't intended to lose his temper, but he couldn't stop thinking of the terror he'd felt at the accident scene when he'd thought she was dead.
Shoving the thought to the back of his mind, he turned back to her. "Okay, so we know Hunt Ratcliffe drives a blue Suburban. Jim Arnaud drives an old black Bronco, What about Elliott Ratcliffe?"
"I don't know." She sighed.
"What about the Wileys?"
"Reno drives an old Ford truck. I don't know about Sara."
"Nick, there are seven thousand people in Bellerose. In case you haven't noticed, a huge percentage of them think I murdered my husband and son, Anyone of them could have convinced themselves they were ridding the town of a child killer and run me off the road."
"Or maybe someone thinks you're a threat."
Her face went pale. "The killer."
“It's an angle we've got to consider."
The possibility that the killer had his sights set on Nat made him break a cold sweat. Fate had taught Nick to be cautious when it came to the people he cared about. He wasn't happy about it, but he definitely cared for her. Too damn much, if he wanted to be honest about it.
Raking a hand through his hair, he returned to the table and sat down. ''We need to tell Alcee Martin everything."
She choked out a laugh. “There's no way he's going to believe us without some kind of proof."
"Then we give him proof,"
"How do you suggest we do that?
“We start by laying out the facts. We know someone tried to kill you tonight. We know the person who killed Kyle and Ward is still out there--"
"Nick, Alcee is sold on the theory that the murders were committed by a vagrant who rode in on the railroad."
"Theories can be disproved."
''Two witnesses placed this vagrant in town that night."
"That's hardly open and shut."
"I agree with you, but it isn't going to matter to Alcee." She bit her lip. "There's no way we'll be able to convince him I'm receiving messages from the dead via trance writing. I can barely believe it myself!"
"If you proved it to me, we can prove it to Martin."
"In case you've forgotten, you were a hard sell, Nick. I'm not sure I want to risk what little credibility I have. If we had some hard evidence--"
"We can't put this off in the hope of getting our hands on proof. If Kyle's messages are accurate, there's a child killer out there. He's already murdered at least three children. Who knows how long this guy has been--" The next thought that struck him stopped him cold, sent an oily wave of nausea climbing up his throat.
"What?" she asked.
"We don't even know how long this guy has been operating."
Nat pressed her hand to her stomach. “When I researched what, happened to Brand, I didn't think to look into previous deaths."
Nick let the information roll around in his brain for a moment. "Why the hell haven't the police been able to put this together?"
"Maybe the killer is a cop!'
The thought gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. If the killer were a cop, it would explain a lot of what had been going on. "What makes you think that?"
She studied Nick intently for a moment, and for the first time he got the distinct impression she was keeping something from him. "I'm not saying he's involved in any way--"
'''Who?''
"Matt Duncan," she said.
''Matt Duncan?" He knew he was gaping, but couldn't seem to help himself. "What do you know about Duncan?"
"I went out with him a couple of times back in high school." She let out a self-deprecating laugh. "He was this big football star. I was a naive sixteen-year-old farm girl with an awful lot of silly dreams."
"Let me guess. Duncan wasn't the nice guy everyone thought he was."
"He didn't like to be told no, especially by someone he deemed lower than him on the social ladder."
"Did he ... "
She shook her head. "No. But he's definitely got a mean streak,"
"We got a glimpse of that tonight." Nick thought about what had happened between her and Duncan earlier and felt a quiver of relief that things hadn't gotten any uglier than they had. "You think he's capable of murder?"
"I don't know. I can't see him killing children. But I think he's capable of running me off the road."
"Do you know what kind of vehicle he drives?"
"A big four-wheel drive job. Dark."
"It could have been him?"
She nodded. "It's possible, but it happened too fast for me to be sure."
Anger ground through him at the thought of a bully like Duncan hurting Nat. She'd already been hurt enough. "I should have decked that son of a bitch when I had the chance."
"Nick, we need to stay focused on the killer.”
He knew she was right, but it enraged him that Duncan had come within an inch of putting his hands on her. That he may have been the one to run her off the road . . .
"We need help from the police," she said. "Alcee."
He shot her a canny look. "That brings us back to getting proof." Rising, he began to pace, his mind jumping. "We need to find out if there were any suspicious deaths previous to Brand's."
"The library," Nat said. "There are computers there with Internet access."
"And the newspaper. There will be archives."
"The Bellerose Daily Advocate is across from the post office."
"We'll start there first thing in the morning. We’ll search the news reports for accidents in which children have died. We'll also need to search for missing children, going back five or ten years. We need to talk to the parents. Becky and Jim Arnaud to start. Maybe they know something or saw something that could help."
"Nick, I could invite another trance writing session. It's a tool we haven't really tapped into."
He stopped pacing and looked at her. "You mean ask Kyle a direct question and see if he can answer?"
Nat stared back at him, a small but determined warrior willing to face her worst nightmare to get this done. "It's worth a shot."
"Are you up to it?" he asked.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this bastard from killing another child."
Chapter 23
Nat's hands were cold as she sat at the dining room table and stared at the blank legal pad in front of her. Nick was sitting across from her, and even though her eyes were closed, she sensed him watching her. She could feel the power of his gaze, touching her like the soft trace of a fingertip.
They'd been sitting in silence for nearly twenty minutes, but nothing was happening. She tried to concentrate on channeling energy into her mind the way she'd done in the past, but she couldn't seem to focus. The gash on her temple was beginning to throb. She was exhausted. She was starting to get frustrated.
The yawn took her by surprise. She looked over at
Nick and smiled. "Sorry."
“Would it help if I left the room?" he asked.
She shook her head. "If it's going to happen, it will happen, no matter what I'm doing or who I'm with. If not . . .” She shrugged. "Let's give it a few more minutes and see what happens.
"Sometimes it helps if I write questions." She picked up the pen and wrote, Kyle, are you there? Closing her eyes, she waited a full minute before adding. I need to know if there were any other children besides you and Brandon and Ricky Arnaud who were hurt by the bad man."
Holding the pen ready, she closed her eyes, She breathed deeply, willing her mind and body to relax. She visualized her son's sweet face. She conjured his little-boy scent.
Come to me, baby . . .
The dizziness descended like a fast-moving vortex that spun her violently and hurled her into a free fall. Too fast, she thought, and a frisson of rear flashed through her, Then she was tumbling end over end through a tunnel that was tilled with color and light and shadow.
Kyle?
As if through a kaleidoscope, she saw her left hand moving over the paper in an awkward dance. Pressing too hard. Tearing the paper. Her knuckles white and trembling. She couldn't see the words, but she could feel the warm pulse of them inside her head. She tried to speak, but her voice was mute. She tried to move, but her body seemed paralyzed.
As quickly as the episode had begun, it stopped. Nat felt herself sagging in the chair, Strong hands on her shoulders, holding her upright. Nick's voice in her ear, sharp with concern. "Nat. Nat!"
For an instant she didn't want to open her eyes, but she did, and slowly the kitchen came back into view.
"Nat? Can you hear me?"
"I'm okay." She looked up to see Nick staring down at her, his expression dark with concern. "Easy," he said. “You passed out."
Shaken, she looked around to get her bearings. "How long was I out?"