Kitabı oku: «Killer Exposure»

ONE

Spring wasn’t the only thing in the air. Storms were rolling in, and if Greer Montgomery didn’t need the money she wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of a field on an April evening taking photos for the upgraded Goldenville Chamber of Commerce website. Nope, she’d be home snuggled up with her own little Stormie Lin, listening to her suck a pacifier and inhaling that sweet baby scent—a mix of innocence and baby powder. But Greer would work three more jobs, if necessary, to provide for her nine-month-old princess.

The Stellar Entertainment traveling carnival had spent most of last night and early this morning setting up for the week-long spring-fest. Greer had been by earlier to catch some of the action and meet with the Chamber of Commerce’s executive director—and her friend—Cindy Woolridge to discuss the vision for the website.

Most of the patrons tonight would be donning ponchos and rain boots. Alabama’s springs could be wet and soggy. But that didn’t stop families from coming out in droves to indulge in corn dogs—or, as everyone around here called them, Pronto Pups—pretzels, rigged games, a Ferris wheel and cotton candy. Greer peered into the sky. The sun had been eclipsed by thunderheads that looked a lot like spun cotton candy piled high on a stick. Breaking through the dappled clouds, lightning flashed in the distance. The scent of rain rolled in, which brought a whole different flood of emotions.

She clicked a few photos of the lit-up Ferris wheel. Perfect for the chamber website. Tourists would want to come and visit; folks moving to the area would see how family-friendly Goldenville was. Southern hospitality at its best. When she returned home a year and a half ago, she’d been welcomed with open arms. One set of feeble arms had belonged to her mother. Greer had expected to come home temporarily to help her after a mild heart attack, but Mama never completely recovered and three months ago, she’d passed into the strong arms of Jesus after a severe heart attack. Greer missed her daily. Missed that Lin wouldn’t get a chance to know her grandmother.

Another flash of lightning, accompanied by a peal of thunder, revealed the storm was fast approaching. Maybe less than thirty minutes. Greer had already taken a ton of photos this morning after her shift at the sheriff’s department. She normally worked days, but they were short a few deputies, so she’d taken the overtime and worked the night shift last night. Not much in town too sinister. Other than those thunderheads.

Locke would call them by their proper name—cumulonimbus clouds. Her tummy flip-flopped at the thought of him. But she’d been thinking about him all afternoon. She’d have never experienced a storm in all its terrifying glory if she hadn’t chased dozens with him over the few years they were together. Seen them through his shockingly blue eyes—blue like tropical waters with limbuses as black as a tempest.

She wandered through the maze of rides, games and food stands. Carnies worked to get set up. Music blared through speakers, and she gravitated toward employee campers and then to the field that widened into the woods—which gave her some unique photo opportunities to capture storms, clouds or any wild weather through the treetops. Locke taught her that, too. But their dreams of exploring the world and capturing it on film had shattered like glass in a hailstorm.

She had planned to come home and nurse Mama back to health while Locke went on with the research team, documenting storm systems and tornadoes. Then she would meet back up with him and the team, helping with photography needs.

But upon arriving back in Goldenville, she discovered a shared moment of weakness with Locke—that she sorely regretted—had left her pregnant. But God had been faithful to forgive and to provide for her and Lin, whom she did not regret one iota. Lin was the good in the whole messy situation.

Greer had quickly secured a job as a crime-scene photographer and sheriff’s deputy. Law enforcement was in the blood. From her mama’s side of the family—the Buchanan side. Dad hadn’t been one for enforcing anything. That was Mama’s job. Then he’d flown the coop decades ago, only coming back to town to visit her and her older brother, Hollister, on occasion. But eventually he became as scarce as woodland creatures before a cyclone.

She snapped a few photos of the lightning to use with her new filters. Thunder rumbled as she darted in between the employees’ makeshift homes. A commotion came from one of the smaller house trailers up ahead. Not much light due to the sun setting and the blanket of ominous clouds. Greer crept toward the sounds of a scuffle.

The door was cracked open.

A man’s garbled cry sent chill bumps across Greer’s skin. She drew her off-duty Glock 43 and darted toward the camper, swinging open the door.

A man stared at her, his eyes inky and threatening. Her training kicked in. “Drop the knife. Hands up. Come out slowly. Slowly,” she commanded.

Dressed in a carnival maintenance uniform, he held up black-gloved hands, one still gripping the bloody blade. He wore a ball cap that hid his hair, but his short-cropped beard and mustache matched his eyes, his physical features distorted in the dimness.

The man at his feet stared blankly, unmoving. The amount of blood couldn’t have come from only one wound. He’d been stabbed multiple times. Greer feared she’d witnessed his last breath, last sound. “Take it easy. You’re under arrest.” No radio to call it in. But she had the situation under control. Once she got him to lie face down with his hands behind his back, she’d use her cell and get backup out here to cuff him.

A brilliant flash of lightning popped across the sky. The man kicked a bucket through the door. She batted it away, but it startled her. The killer leaped out and ran for the woods. Greer couldn’t let him get away. She rushed inside the mobile home and checked the victim’s vitals. As she sadly suspected—gone.

Sprinting through the light drops of rain, Greer spied him rushing into the safety of the trees.

“Freeze!” She raced in his direction. Eating up the field, she flew into the dense forest and paused, listening. A whiz up ahead. She moved in.

He disappeared.

Her heart pounded as she crept through the trees, brush, limbs and leaves crunching under her feet.

Come on. I need another flash of lightning. Come. On.

A burst of light shot through the night, and the man slammed her into a tree. Greer’s loose grip, due to the rain, was lost, and her gun plummeted into the brush. She swung at the killer and connected with his jaw with a right uppercut. She might be slight in frame, but her brother had been a Navy SEAL, and he’d taught her a trick or two—and she’d been kickboxing since her early twenties.

A raspy laugh belched from his mouth, and the knife he’d refused to drop glinted in the night. Her adrenaline kicked up a notch. Game changer.

She weaved and dodged him, hoping to spot her gun with a fresh flick of light. The camera hanging around her neck thumped against her chest.

No go. Jumping backward, she grabbed a large, gnarly branch and swung it at the attacker. Thoughts of her baby girl recharged her need to fight. The killer rushed her, and she tripped in the darkness, dropping the limb. They tumbled to the ground, and she screeched. But no one would hear. Not this far out. Not over the thunder. Not over the carnival music blaring.

Greer had no one to rely on to survive but herself and God. She screamed again as he shoved her into the dead winter twigs and pinecones. They cut into the back of her cropped denim jacket and T-shirt with a sharp sting. She drew up her knees, putting one against his stomach, blocking him from putting his whole body and weight on top of her. He grabbed her right wrist. She snatched his with her left hand, pulling his arm across her body and pushing with her free leg. She rolled out from under him, her camera strap snapping and sending it to the forest floor. Scrambling to her feet, she sprang into action and tore through the trees as the raindrops turned into a steady, but drizzly, rain.

Breathing ragged. Fear propelling her forward, faster. Stronger. Greer’s lungs screamed for more air, burning in protest. She’d left her hair down, and it matted to her face and eyes.

She glanced back as lightning illuminated the surroundings. He was ten feet away, closing in. Zigzagging, she smacked straight into a tree and bounced off, falling to the ground and landing with a heavy thud.

“Whoa.” The tree spoke. “Hey!” This time the voice roared, and she raised her head to see the man-tree go after the killer. Pushing hair from her eyes, Greer heaved breaths and struggled to get up. He dove onto the guy, and the attacker rolled him over. But he was quick and easy on his feet. He jumped up and put himself in a defensive position to block. Martial arts? The guy swung, but her rescuer blocked him once, twice, then landed a frontal kick, propelling him backward. There was some definite power in those legs.

“Who do you think you are?” he hollered, disgust and something familiar in his tone.

Greer’s head pounded, and her entire body blazed and ached.

The killer rushed him, and as fast as the lightning was striking, the towering oak used a series of hand motions to nail him on the ground. “Stay down!”

No. Greer stood, tottered. Couldn’t be. Had to be the blows to the head... But that voice. That confident, almost arrogant attitude. “Locklin?”

He whipped his head in her direction. “Greer...? Greer!”

The attacker made his move, and before Greer could warn Locke, he swept Locke’s feet out from under him, throwing him off balance, then bolted and fled through the woods.

Locke raced toward her as she teetered, legs like noodles. Nauseated. Headache. Trembling. He righted her as the sky lit up.

His crow-colored hair was a bit longer, shaggier, framing his face and touching his collar. Cheeks, chin and neck were scruffier. But it was storm-chasing season. A camera hung around his neck. “How bad are you hurt?” His hands roamed her face, head, back, arms.

She shrugged him away. His touch, while medically motivated, felt too intimate. Too familiar. Too perfect and safe. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking...and bleeding.” He brushed her hair from her face.

“Stop touching me.” She jerked back.

“Okay, I’m backing off.” He held his hands up as a boom of thunder breached the wooded barrier.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m just...rattled. But fine.” That wasn’t completely true. Greer was far from fine. Things were happening so fast. She’d been attacked. Locke Gallagher was here. The past was rushing in, as were thoughts of what she needed to do now as a law enforcer. She was flustered, panicked and afraid.

“I get it, Greer. We gotta go, though. Now.”

She nodded, snagged her cell phone from her denim-jacket pocket and turned on her flashlight. “I need my gun and camera. Help me find them?” She hurried and called in the crime, giving the last known location of the killer and which camper the victim would be in.

Locke stood like a statue, rain slicking his hair to his face.

“Please,” she begged. “I have to get back to the crime scene. Get photos.”

Locke shoved rain-drenched hair from his face. “What is going on?” His words were laced with frustration.

“Did you not hear me call it in? I witnessed him murdering an employee. With this weather, time isn’t on my side.” She searched the area for her gun and camera, rain soaking her to the bone.

Locke finally helped her. “Here.” He found the gun by the tree.

“Thank you.” She needed to answer his questions. Have some kind of conversation. He’d have a million questions, but rain would wash away possible evidence, and a killer was on the loose. She had to focus on her job first, then she’d muster some courage to talk to Locke. “What are you even doing here, in town? In these woods?” she asked as she found her camera, then jogged through the woods and into the field to the campers.

He kept her pace.

Locke couldn’t be here. Not in Goldenville. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m chasing a cluster of storms in the surrounding areas. Be about a week or so.”

That was too long. This was a small town. He’d no doubt bump into Greer at the store, a café, the park. And he’d see Lin.

And he’d know he had daughter. A daughter he’d never laid eyes on. Never met.

Because Greer had kept it a secret.

To spare their child from the future heartache of knowing she was never wanted by her father.

* * *

Locke ran with Greer across the field to the carnival employee campground. Rows upon rows of RVs and campers created a temporary home base for the traveling crew. Locke was no stranger to this kind of living. Especially during spring and summer storm seasons. Greer was supposed to be on the team, too. But she’d come home to help her mother and dropped him faster than a twister descending out of the sky, ignoring all his calls and texts. He’d taken the obvious hint that things were over, which shattered his heart in a million pieces. He’d been too cowardly to show up on her doorstep and face the rejection in person. It had been easier to lick his wounds alone and fake it until he made it.

He’d been debating giving her a courtesy voicemail, as she wouldn’t answer his calls, to let her know that he’d be in her hometown for a week or so with the group of scientists he worked with. Could he slip into town for the week and her not know it? He was leaning toward “yes,” when Greer had literally smacked into him in the woods. No hiding now.

Locke had been capturing this small storm on his own time. The earlier weather hadn’t been conducive to tornadoes so he’d been using it in his free time to collect photos for his online web gallery. He’d created a large platform and made a name for himself as a storm photographer. Even National Geographic had purchased a few images and done a piece on him and his role working with this team to discover more about why some storms produce tornadoes and others don’t. They were working to help stretch tornado warning times for people.

He hadn’t expected to find Greer. Certainly not battling a crazed dude in the woods. He thought he’d heard screams earlier and was making his way toward them when Greer had slammed into him. Then he’d seen the attacker and realized the woman was in serious danger. He hadn’t known it was Greer until she’d called him by his full first name. Locklin. He’d been so stunned and distracted that the man got away. How had she witnessed the crime? Why was she hanging out around employee living grounds and why was she calling in crimes like it was her...? “Do you work for the police now?”

They dashed through a row of campers, and Greer slowed down. “Sheriff’s department. Deputy and crime-scene photographer when they need one. Thus, me needing to get photos.”

Locke had met her in one of their criminal justice classes, but they’d gotten to know each other working for the college paper. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest since you’re a witness to this crime?”

“Are you serious right now? It’s about to storm. I’m the only one around. Who else is going to do it?”

She had a point. And it wasn’t like Locke was in law enforcement now. He’d dropped out. School wasn’t for him, and he never wanted to follow the Gallagher-Flynn lineage into the military and law enforcement. Locke just chased storms and had disappointed everyone, as usual, including Dad. God rest his soul.

Greer shined a light and entered the gloomy scene. Locke followed but stayed outside the door. He wasn’t dumb enough to contaminate a crime scene. The deceased was lying in a pool of blood. This right here—this was why Locke never wanted to go into the criminal justice field. His stomach wasn’t fragile, but he detested violence. The marring of humans. The evil. His heart couldn’t handle this day in and day out.

Dad would probably consider it weak. Locke simply didn’t like looking at death every single day. Greer used a broom handle to lift debris and then she went to work clicking the camera as if she hadn’t been chased and attacked in the woods. He admired her tenacity. Her drive to help fight injustice.

But Locke would rather use his camera to capture the terrifying glory of a whirlwind. Even in the wake of its destruction, there was still beauty and wonder to be found. In that tragedy, communities rallied to support one another. He had hundreds of photos of humanity doing its best.

Police sirens sounded.

“Who was this guy?” Locke asked, and studied Greer. Maybe she wasn’t as held together—he caught her hands trembling.

“Don’t know yet.”

“You probably need a doctor or something.”

She paused and poked her head outside the camper; a gentleness softened her features. “I sincerely appreciate your concern. But honestly, Locklin, I’m good. I’m not trying to ignore you. I just... I gotta work. Gotta do the job and it helps me not think about the fact I almost bit it out there tonight.”

The thought of that sent a shock to his system. But if she said she was okay, he’d go with it. Greer was a strong woman. She wasn’t blowing him off like she had almost two years ago. He’d try to be more patient. Patience wasn’t exactly a virtue he possessed, though. It required being still and Locke had always struggled with being still. School, church, events and the list went on. He was full of energy and always antsy. Just the way he was made.

Lights flashed in the distance. Sheriff’s deputies had arrived. They went to work sealing off the scene and forcing Locke to the other side of the tape, where he stood in the rain getting wetter with each second. A chill had already numbed his skin but he wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he was sure she was safe. Didn’t matter that other police were around and were capable.

“Sir,” another crime tech said. “I need to collect evidence from your hands. Deputy Montgomery said you hit the attacker’s face. I’d like to get a sample before this storm washes it away.” Locke complied while the officer did his thing. Another deputy walked up—he was an inch shorter than Locke’s six-foot-one frame. “I’m Deputy Crisp.”

“Locke Gallagher.”

“I’m gonna need your statement. I’ve already gotten Deputy Montgomery’s.”

Locke gave him the lowdown, while keeping an eye on Greer as she talked with other deputies.

When Greer finally slipped out from under the tape, he headed straight for her.

She cocked her head. “You don’t have to stick around, Locke. They got everything they needed and as I said before, I’m okay.” She sighed and reached into her pocket, pulling out a small pouch. She tossed it to him. “Poncho. Though, it’s a little late for staying dry.” A smirk pulled at her lips as if she was totally fine, but her eyes betrayed her.

“I know I don’t need to stay. I want to. And I know you too well. You’re not okay.” It was clear Greer didn’t want anything to do with him. He got that. He’d repeatedly been over her reasons for going cold turkey on him. She might have changed her mind about the traveling life. And the bigger one—the night they’d crossed a line—could have seriously factored into her not returning. He’d made a huge mistake. Shouldn’t have let it get so out of control. Epic fail on his part and he blamed himself completely. Not that he hadn’t moved on since she’d broken his heart—he had—but of all the adventures Locke ever loved, Greer was his greatest. Couldn’t they even be friends?

“Greer, I should have known you’d be here working.” A tall man with thick silver hair approached. Locke hung back but could still hear the conversation.

“Hey, Sheriff. I’m not letting this one get away.” She told him what happened. “What we know right now is the vic’s name is Fred ‘Flip’ Bomer. He’s worked the Stellar Entertainment carnival for eight years. Done an array of things from games to running the bumper cars. Thirty-seven. Not married. The carnival manager, Rudy Dennison, is getting us his file, but you know that’s going to be thin. Carnivals don’t require background checks or too much information.”

“True. Listen, I appreciate you taking the initiative and getting the photos, but you were attacked. Get some rest. Let Crisp take it from here.” The fatherly figure laid a hand on her shoulder. “You sure you don’t need medical attention?”

Greer bristled. “No, sir. I’m going to work with Burt on a sketch of the man who killed Flip and attacked me. Manager said they have multiple maintenance workers on staff. We’re rounding them up now. I need to stay on this. Need to ID this guy.”

He seemed to debate the idea. “Let Crisp and Garrison do it. When they get the workers corralled, you can make the ID.” He gave her a slight side-hug. “Glad you’re okay.” He then turned to Locke. “Sheriff Randy Wright.”

“Locke Gallagher.”

“Thank you for being in the woods.” He squinted, rain dripping off his poncho. “Why were you out here in the woods?”

Locke glanced at Greer. The truth was he was trying to figure out what to do about seeing or not seeing her while photographing nature. “I’m with a group researching storms. Y’all have several supercells coming in this week, prime weather for twisters. I photograph them.”

“A storm chaser?”

“Yes, sir.”

He grinned. “Glad you were here. Not that I don’t think Greer could have made it out, but sometimes we need a little help.”

“I guess so.”

The sheriff shook his hand again and left them alone as the rain let up. Wasn’t over yet, though. “Locke, I’m safe. Seriously, you can get back to what you were doing,” Greer said.

“I know.” But he didn’t want to leave. “How long will the sketch take? I can wait. We can get dry...and get coffee?”

“I’m not sure. And I worked all last night, picking up overtime, so I’m pretty tired.” As if on cue, she yawned, then sheepishly grinned. His heart slammed into his throat. Those wide, thick lips on a heart-shaped face. The straightest nose he’d ever seen. Her chocolate-brown eyes revealed true exhaustion. But there wasn’t a measure of fear in her tone—she was so like the Greer he used to know. Used to love.