Kacey held fast to the envelope. “Women are dying. As far as I know, no men have been killed, which is really odd, since Gerald Johnson has fathered a number of males, too.”
“No one will lose their job or get into serious trouble,” Alvarez promised, and Kacey let go of the envelope.
“I’m going to have someone get right on this,” Pescoli said and left the room quickly.
Alvarez continued the interview. When she asked if Kacey had ever felt stalked or if things were strange, Kacey was reminded again of the attack in Seattle and mentioned it. Then she remembered the accident and Grace Perchant’s warning. “This is probably nothing,” she said, “but I was in an accident, or almost an accident. Less than a fender bender. The roads were icy and another car lost control, I had to swerve to miss it, and when I did, I slid into the other lane. A big truck, going the opposite direction, clipped my bumper. It seemed like on purpose. Even though it was obviously my fault, the other driver took off, rather than stop and swap insurance information.”
Alvarez, who was taking notes, asked, “You didn’t get a look at the driver?”
“Just a quick glimpse, but other than seeing it was a man with dark hair, no.” Kacey shook her head and, out of her peripheral vision, saw Trace tense, the muscles in his neck tighten. “For the most part, his face was averted. I had the impression I’d seen him before, but… I couldn’t place him. He did look like some of Gerald Johnson’s sons I met today, but I might be pushing that.”
Alvarez asked, “Do you know the make or model of the truck?”
“I was too busy trying to stay on the road. It was big, probably domestic — Chevy or Ford, I think — but I’m not sure. What I did notice was that it had a huge bumper guard of some kind on it, looked like it was steel, but painted black, and even though I didn’t get a good look at the plates, I had a feeling that they weren’t from Montana. One of the numbers was either a three or an eight. Or, maybe it was a B? The back plate was really dirty, and there wasn’t time to get a second look. It all happened in just a few seconds.”
“Any chance there was some paint transfer? From his vehicle to yours?” Alvarez asked, suddenly more interested.
“Maybe. . I saw black marks and a bit of a dent on my bumper.”
“We’d like to keep your car. Try and get at some of those black marks, see if they’re paint.” Alvarez was all business. “Is there anything else you remember?”
“Not really… oh, but, there was a witness,” Kacey said. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
Because it was random. You didn’t really think the accident was connected to anything else. The driver hadn’t intentionally tried to run you down, she thought. Now, though…
“Grace Perchant, she was out walking her dog, the one that’s part wolf.”
“Did you talk to her?”
Grace’s warning ran like blood through Kacey’s brain: You should never speak to him. He is evil. He means you harm. She’d tried to dismiss the pale woman’s message, but it had stuck with her, invaded her dreams.
“She told me not to try and chase him down, that the driver was ‘evil.’ When I asked her who he was, she couldn’t come up with a name, just that he meant me harm.”
“Sounds like Grace,” Alvarez said. “We’ll check it out.”
Fishing in her purse, Kacey came up with her key ring, then removed the key to her Ford and handed it to Alvarez. “I’ll need the car back soon.”
“Tomorrow,” Alvarez promised, scooting back her chair, indicating the interview was finally over. “And I’ll get hold of Grace Perchant.”
Trace had listened to most of the interview without saying too much, but as the discussion had worn on, he’d become more and more concerned for Kacey’s safety. After learning that she had possibly been poisoned and then viewing Pescoli’s gruesome pictures of Karalee Rierson, the most recent accident victim, he’d made up his mind.
As he held the glass door open for her, then followed her outside, he said, “You’re coming to my place.”
“Oh, I am?” Outside the snow was thick now, still falling, a wind blowing off the mountains. Night had fallen in earnest while they were in the police station. Streetlights glowed, offering a thin blue light to the powdery landscape.
“You’re sure as hell not going home alone. Dog or no dog.”
“Yeah?” she asked, but even in the semidarkness, he saw that she was teasing, her eyes a deeper green. Turning the collar of her coat against the wind, she followed a trail of footprints along a footpath leading past a flagpole, where chains rattled and the flags had already been taken down for the night. As Trace jogged to catch up with her, he noticed snowflakes settling onto her shoulders, sparkling like glitter in the dark strands of her hair.
“I don’t like what’s going on,” he said seriously.
“Me, neither.”
“So, no arguments?”
She studied him for a second. “None from me, but we have to pick up my dog and a few things, and then, in the morning, I’m going to need a way to get to work.”
“I think I can handle it. My neighbors, Tilly and Ed Zukov, are watching over things at my place until I get back.”
During Trace’s last conversation Tilly had assured him that Ed had taken care of the horses and cattle and she was already frying chicken. Trace had heard the sizzle of the meat cooking and the blare of the television, as Ed was more than a little hard of hearing. Satisfied that his son was safe and feeling well enough to ask Tilly to bake him brownies, Trace had relaxed a little.
But his sense of ease had been short-lived as the interview had worn on.
He didn’t know who was behind the “accidents” of the women who’d died, but the fact that Kacey looked like a target was enough to convince him that she shouldn’t be alone. Someone had gotten into her house without forced entry, had possibly poisoned her, was privy to her private conversations, and knew when she was alone.
Trace’s back muscles tightened just at the thought of someone listening in.
Was it possible that the person behind the surveillance equipment was the killer?
You bet. In Trace’s mind there was no question. None whatsoever. He unlocked the truck, waited as she climbed into the cab, then closed the door.
She smiled at him through the passenger window, and he felt that now familiar little tug on his heart that he felt whenever he was around her. In another time and place he might think he was falling in love. Right here, right now, he couldn’t even go there. Not while women who looked like her were dying.
As he slid behind the wheel, she voiced second thoughts. “I don’t know if staying with you is the answer,” she said.
“Eli would love it.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking about.” She slid a glance his way. “And you know it.”
He realized suddenly how close the cab of his truck was, how their breaths had fogged the glass. “Yeah.” To break the mood, he flipped on the defrost.
He jammed the truck into reverse, backed out of the parking spot, then switched gears to drive. Slowing so that he could ease into the steady stream of traffic heading out of the town, he inched forward, feeling her gaze upon him as he slid into a spot behind a flatbed truck with a load of Christmas trees.
“It’s just that I have to know that you’re safe, okay? So I want you to stay with me.”
“You want to protect me.”
“Something like that.”
She half smiled, and it was about the sexiest gesture he’d ever seen. “You know what, O’Halleran? Maybe I’ll end up protecting you. Or something like that.”