Telling Secrets. Tracy Montoya
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Call me. I don’t know why you don’t carry a cell phone—” Beep!
Finally, blessedly, the machine cut her mother off. Sophie touched a button to erase the message and headed for her front door. If she didn’t get out of here, guilt would eat her alive until she called her mom back, and she didn’t want to do that until she’d gotten herself out of this mess. Kate Brennan worried enough as it was.
Pulling her black midlength leather jacket on, she zipped it up and wrapped a long scarf around her neck. Where to—police, Alex Gray or undisclosed hidden location? Undisclosed hidden location, Alex Gray or police?
Grabbing her keys off the little hook near the door, she peered through the peephole to make sure no one was lurking in the hall. Reasonably confident that she could make it to the stairwell to the parking garage without being accosted, she exited her apartment, locking the door behind her. A leaden weight seemed to settle in the bottom of her stomach, reminding her that for better or worse, she was inextricably tied to a murder. And what she did now could help the investigation or throw it way off track—or get her in some serious trouble.
Maybe she was in serious trouble no matter what she did.
TRY AS HE MIGHT, ALEX COULDN’T erase the disturbing sight of that sheet-covered…thing from his mind, no matter how many times Sabrina and Skylar asked if he was all right, no matter how many mindless South Park reruns he went over in his head, no matter how many times he closed his eyes.
He’d been inside the ranger station since the morning, after he’d gotten the schoolkids safely back on their bus without them being any wiser. He’d told their teachers he’d seen a bear, and the field-trip chaperones had been only too happy to clear on out rather than risk having one of their charges eaten by errant wildlife. And then, after leading the police to the body, he’d come back to the station and had answered questions: Sabrina’s questions, Skylar’s questions, the park rangers’ questions, the police detectives’ questions. Over and over and over again, further embedding the images in his brain. And they were horrific.
When he’d gone up the falls, he’d found a body. But not just a lost hiker or a suicide, as was usually the case on the rare occasions when someone died in the parklands. No, this person had most definitely been murdered, but unfortunately, the killer hadn’t left it at that.
Somewhere between the hours of 6:00 last night and 9:30 this morning, someone had constructed a stone altar, laid the body on it and covered it with a sheet. Then, just to make things nice and scary for the poor schmo who ended up finding the victim, they’d stabbed an upside-down cross pattern through the sheet and into the victim’s chest. The cops Alex had led to the scene had told him that the stab wounds had been inflicted postmortem and that the victim had most likely been strangled, but if that was supposed to make him feel better, it didn’t.
The police had long ago finished gathering evidence from the scene, and even though it was past time for him to go home for the day, Alex remained inside one of the ranger station offices, sitting at a desk with his head in his hands, waiting to see if he could be of any more use to…anyone. Anything rather than go home and be alone with his thoughts.
Someone had died. Within a mile of the ranger station, and no one had heard or seen or suspected a thing.
No one except the woman he’d met outside the coffee shop that morning.
He’d given her description to police, and they’d said they’d put an APB out on her to bring her in for questioning. Had he met a murderer? And if so, didn’t it just figure that she’d randomly choose to torment him with clues about her crimes?
A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. “Come in,” he called, and Sabrina popped her head through the door.
“Alex, there’s a woman wearing a very large pair of sunglasses outside. She’s asking to speak to you.” Sabrina narrowed her eyes, glancing quickly behind her. “I think it’s that woman from the coffee shop.”
Of course. Right on cue.
Feeling more exhausted than he could remember, he planted his hands on the desk and pushed himself wearily to his feet. “Seriously? You call the police?”
She nodded. “Of course. I don’t want to lose her, but what if she’s dangerous? Maybe you shouldn’t go out there.”
“If she’s that dangerous, she would have come in here, guns blazing.” Then again, the murder victim had been a healthy male in his fifties who’d outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. If she’d managed to take him down, she might be more formidable than she looked. The thought didn’t stop him from heading for the door. “I’ll stall her,” he said to Sabrina. “You tell the cops to hurry.” Someone had to keep her occupied until the police arrived, and he wasn’t going to send out Skylar or Bree and cower behind them.
He pushed through the ranger-station doors and headed outside. In the dimness of the parking lot lights, he could barely make out a lone figure standing next to a small gray compact car, a fringed scarf wrapped around her hair. Just as Sabrina had told him, she wore a pair of sunglasses so huge, they looked like they’d eaten half her face. As he approached, she got in her car, leaning over to open the passenger-side door in an obvious invitation.
Once he’d climbed inside, pausing briefly to scan the interior and make sure she didn’t have a tranq gun hidden on the floor somewhere, she unwrapped the scarf from around her head and took off the ridiculous sunglasses. And yes, indeed, it was her—the woman from the coffee shop. The insane woman from the coffee shop whose bizarre message had led him to the body of someone who’d died in a way that no one should.
“What do you want?” His words were harsh, and he didn’t feel the least bit sorry for her when she flinched at his tone.
She licked her lips, and he was close enough to her to see the light dusting of freckles on her face. The curls that he’d thought were mostly brown had taken on a fiery reddish hue in the light of the setting sun. “My name is Sophie Brennan, and I wanted to apologize,” she began. “I had no idea what I told you this morning would lead you to…what you found.” She shifted her weight slightly in her seat, so she was leaning away from him as if she were afraid. He scowled at the thought that he would have frightened her—he wasn’t the one sending people to find murder victims.
“What I found was a body,” he said, trying to keep himself from shouting at her. “And you knew something was there, across the bridge. You mind telling me how?”
“I don’t—” She flipped her palms upward, blinked a couple of times and then let her hands drop to her lap once more.
“Look,” Alex said, trying another tactic. “My coworker’s husband is a cop. He can help you, if you just tell us what you know.” He didn’t know why he’d offered her even that much protection. But then again, now that he was face-to-face with her, it was difficult to picture her as the one who’d performed that grisly killing. This quiet, somewhat shy woman with her too-intense eyes didn’t seem like the type to murder someone and then carry out some bizarre ritual with their remains. Plus, the victim had been a big man, and she barely cleared five feet. Strangulation? He didn’t think so.
Or so his gut told him. Then again, lots of people’s guts had told them Ted Bundy was an okay guy, before the whole being-outed-as-a-serial-killer thing had happened.
She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t need help. They won’t find any evidence on or near the body that ties it to me, because I had nothing to do with that murder.” Folding her arms, she looked him straight in the eye then, her deep blue gaze solid and seemingly filled with the naive belief that her proven innocence was a sure thing. “Look.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “I’m a little psychic. That was why I talked to you at the coffee shop.”
“You’re a little what?” Now that he hadn’t seen coming. “How can you be a little psychic? Isn’t that like being a little rich, or a little dead?”
She gave something between a snort and a laugh. “Not in my case.” With