Manhunt Read online

  It had been the feel of her soft, silky skin and her feminine curves against his hard body he’d shoved to the back of his mind so he could keep his attention on trying to catch a killer.

  The mere sound of her name brought it all back to him…the fast flutter of her heart against his own, the taut nipples beneath his fingertips, the ravenous hunger that had whipped through him for more…and more.

  They would have made love right there on her sofa if it hadn’t been for the interruption. This thought brought him back to the here and now and the job at hand.

  “Does anyone here know anything about Michael Stanmeyer?” he asked.

  “I’ve seen him around a couple of times, usually at night.” Simon frowned thoughtfully. “He’s tall and skinny as a rail and strange, but I don’t know anything about his background, what he does for a living…nothing. I’ll check him out.”

  “Good. And anyone else that you think fits the physical profile we’ve come up with should be checked out, as well. Simon and John, you know the people in town. Anyone you can think of off the top of your head that would be tall and thin?”

  Simon and John exchanged glances with one another. “We’ll have to think on it a bit,” John said. “We’ll make a list and spend the afternoon doing some questioning, checking out alibis for the murders.”

  “Good. Bud, why don’t you and Tony spend the afternoon on the computers. I want to know if any similar crimes have taken place anywhere in the country.” He turned his attention to Clay. “Anything you can do to hurry up the lab results from Jonathon Blackbird’s murder?”

  “I can make some phone calls, ruffle some feathers and see what we can get back from the lab in Oklahoma City.”

  Nick knew as an FBI agent he would be able to step on more toes, pull more weight than Clay, but he also knew it was important to maintain certain job delineation within the task force, and Clay’s specialty was forensic evidence.

  “Whoever killed these men knew them personally. This is no stranger crime. I don’t believe the victims were chosen by sheer opportunity.” Nick paused a moment to gather his thoughts. “I could be wrong, but there’s a level of rage here that makes me believe these victims have been specifically chosen. All we have to figure out is what the damn connection is between these men and the killer.”

  “We’re working on it, boss,” Bud said.

  “I know. And you all have work to do now, so get out of here and we’ll meet again at seven in the morning.”

  He waited until all the others had left the room, then walked over to the large corkboard decorated with crime scene photographs. It was a grisly display of the ugliness of unnatural death. The four men in the prime of their lives, stabbed multiple times in the chest and left naked in the square.

  Nick’s job was to crawl into the skin, get into the mind of the killer. It had always been a job he did well. Even with the elusive Murphy, Nick had understood the man and his killings. He had known the kind of man and the background that had created that particular monster. But this killer remained elusive to Nick.

  He turned from the board and began a little janitorial duty. He threw away plastic and foam cups along with the remnants of too many lunches and dinners eaten in the room. He’d just tied up the large garbage bag in the trash bin, when Glen Cleburg walked in.

  “I told you I’d be happy to have our janitor take care of this room, too,” he said as Nick pulled the bag from the container.

  “I know, and I appreciate the offer.” Nick gestured toward the bulletin board and the corkboard. “But some of the material we have up here is sensitive. I’d rather take care of the trash myself and limit the people who have access to this room.” At the moment there were only three people who had keys to the task-force room. Nick, Clay and Chief Cleberg.

  “Any breaks?” An anxious furrow indented Glen’s forehead.

  Nick wished he had something positive to give the man who was responsible for the safety of the people of Cherokee Corners. Unfortunately, he didn’t. “These things take time, Chief Cleberg.”

  “I know…I know.” The furrow across his fore head cut even deeper. “But if the killer stays true to the time line of the last four murders, we’re getting ready for another one to happen, aren’t we? There’s been about three weeks between each murder.”

  “We’re doing everything in our power to see that another one doesn’t happen.”

  “I’m trying to keep extra patrols around the square, but we’re a small department and I can’t leave the rest of the town without police presence on the off chance we’ll be at the right place at exactly the right time to stop a killer.” Cleberg sighed in frustration.

  “I know you’re doing what you can,” Nick said. “Things would be easier if it wasn’t the height of the tourist season,” Cleberg continued. “We’ve got too many strangers, folks who are as much at risk as all the rest of us.”

  “There’s one other thing you can do for me,” Nick said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d like a list of any police officers who have quit for any reason or been fired in the past two years. I’d also like a complete roster of all the people currently working for the police department.”

  Glen’s eyes widened. “Surely you don’t think a cop is responsible for these murders?”

  “At this point we aren’t ruling out anyone,” Nick replied.

  “But what makes you think there’s any kind of cop connection to all this?”

  “Nothing specific except that the killer seems to be particularly good at not leaving behind much forensic evidence, and that makes me think the killer knows more than an ordinary person about trace evidence and transfer.”

  Nick had thought it impossible for Glen’s frown to get any deeper, but it did as grim lines bracketed his mouth. “I’ll have a list ready for you first thing in the morning.”

  Glen left and Nick followed. He locked up the room, then carried the bag of garbage out the back door to the Dumpster. It was just after three but his day was far from over. He intended to reinterview Virginia Maxwell, then see if Alyssa would take him to Billy Thunder’s house for an interview.

  Alyssa. He’d consciously fought to keep thoughts of her at bay all day, but as he got into his car and headed for the inn, his mind exploded with sensory memories of her in his arms.

  However, it wasn’t just the physical pleasures that swept through him once again, but an emotional reaction, as well. Somehow, in telling him about her vision, she’d opened herself to him.

  When she’d wept in his arms, he’d felt a level of trust emanating from her, and later as they’d kissed, as she’d allowed him to hold her, to caress her, he’d felt the utter openness, her complete vulnerability to him.

  It had both frightened him and thrilled him at the same time. It had been three years since he’d felt a woman open herself to him not only physically, but mentally and emotionally, as well.

  But he didn’t know what the future held, where his quest for Murphy might eventually take him and what price Alyssa might have to pay emotionally before the serial killer haunting her town was caught. He couldn’t forget that the last woman he’d been close to had wound up dead.

  Alyssa was in the green bedroom changing the bed ding. The couple from Kansas City, Cindy and Dave, had checked out and new guests would be arriving the next morning.

  Even though she had her back to the doorway, she felt Nick’s presence. His expensive cologne, coupled with the clean, masculine scent of him, filled the air, and every nerve ending in her body went on high alert. She turned to see him standing in the doorway.

  “Goofing off in the middle of the day, Agent Mead?” she asked. It was amazing to her that she now felt so at ease with him, that by sharing the secrets of her vision with him and hearing his calm assurances, she felt more uninhibited with him than she’d ever felt with anyone else.

  “You’d better stop looking at me that way or you’re going to have to change those sheets all over a
gain when I get finished with you.”

  She laughed, am I looking at you?”

  He took a step into the room. “Your eyes are flirting with me, propositioning me and trying to cajole me into bed.” That sexy half smile curved his lips. “Unfortunately I can’t take you up on your offer at the moment. I’ll have to fit you into my schedule later.”

  She threw a pillow at him. He caught it and tossed it back to her with a laugh. “What makes you think I want you to work me into your schedule?” she replied with mock indignation. “I’ve got my own schedule to adhere to.”

  His teasing smile fell away. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe later you could work me into your schedule.”

  She could tell by his expression that he wasn’t teasing anymore. “What do you need?” she asked.

  “I’ve got to interview Billy Thunder, and Clay recommended I take you with me. So, could you get somebody to cover you here for an hour or so later this afternoon?”

  “Why do you want to interview Billy?” she asked, surprised by the loyalty, the defensiveness that arose as she thought of the man who had been her first and only lover, a man she still considered a dear friend.

  “I just need to talk to him,” Nick said, obviously being vague on purpose.

  “It will take me a little while to get somebody to cover things here.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve got to reinterview Virginia. Is she here?”

  “I think she’s in her room. This is usually about the time of day she takes a nap.”

  “Well, I’m going to have to interrupt her nap. I’ll check in with you later and see what time will work for you to take me to Billy’s place.”

  Nick disappeared from the doorway and she heard him knock on Virginia’s door.

  Michael Stanmeyer’s door was closed, as well, as it was most of the time. Alyssa couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually been in that room. Michael changed his own bedding and cleaned the room. He was never late with his payments and made few requests. She’d considered him the guest from heaven until last night when Nick had told her that Michael fit the physical profile of the killer.

  She’d spent all morning wondering what might possibly be in Michael’s room that he didn’t want anyone to see. Did he have a knife collection? Bloody clothing? Grisly souvenirs from his kills?

  Legally she knew she had the right to enter his room at any time, but she didn’t want to peek in until Michael was out, and he rarely left the room before evening.

  She finished making the bed, then cleaned the rest of the room and the bathroom. When she was done, Nick was still inside Virginia’s room.

  Alyssa went back downstairs and contacted Mary to see if she could come in and work for a couple of hours. Mary agreed to come within the next hour. Alyssa poured herself a glass of lemonade and carried it out on the veranda to wait for Mary to arrive and for Nick to finish speaking with Virginia.

  The sun beat down with relentless intensity but the shade on the veranda made sitting there bearable. She sipped her lemonade and thought about Billy and why Nick might want to talk to him.

  Billy’s temper was legendary around town, but he wasn’t a killer. If Nick thought he was on a hot trail, then he was going to be disappointed.

  She took another sip of her cold drink and leaned her head against the high back of the wicker chair. She’d slept better last night than she had in years.

  It was as if in telling Nick about the vision that had haunted her, some of the burden, the terror, the turmoil inside her had been released.

  She and Nick were going to make love. It was as inevitable as the sun going down in the west and rising once again in the east. It had been inevitable from the moment he had walked into her establishment.

  Beneath the fear of his appearance, despite the horror of his actual presence after a month of having visions about him, there had been a thrill of anticipation. In that single instance of seeing him for the first time, she’d known him intimately, as a woman knows a man she’s made love to.

  Every day, every moment that she’d been near him, her body had sung with the need to experience in reality what she’d experienced only in her mind.

  She had no illusions about any kind of a long-term relationship with Nick. He was in town to do a job, and once that job was done, he’d return to his life in Tulsa.

  But she knew what her future held, and it was a future of being alone. She’d long ago made peace with that fact.

  “You look relaxed,” Nick said as he stepped out onto the veranda.

  She looked up at him. “And you look tense,” she replied. It was true. His jaw muscles were bunched and a frown line creased his forehead.

  He drew a deep breath and released it slowly, his jaw relaxing and the line disappearing. He sank into the chair next to her. “Talking to Virginia Maxwell is an experience.”

  Alyssa smiled. “She can be exhausting. But I feel so sorry for her. I can’t imagine loving somebody, sharing a life with him, then losing him to a murder. I’d think it would be easier never to love.” She suddenly realized what she’d said and she drew a hand to her mouth in dismay. “Oh, Nick, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s true, losing somebody like that is horrible, and I think some of Virgina’s maniclike energy and demands are maybe part of her grieving process. She needs to feel as if she’s in control of her world. Did you find somebody to come help so you can leave with me?”

  She blinked to process the rapid change of subject. “Yes, Mary should be here anytime, then we can leave. Billy’s place is about a twenty-minute drive from here. It’s kind of hard to find.”

  “I’ll drive and you can direct me.”

  At that moment Mary arrived, and within fifteen minutes they were in Nick’s car and headed for Billy’s place.

  “You’re wrong, you know,” Nick said as they turned off the main highway and headed south on a dirt road.

  “Wrong about what?”

  “That it would be easier not to love than to lose somebody. As devastating as Dorrie’s death was to me, the real tragedy would have been if I’d missed out on the four years of loving I had with her.”

  “Who killed her, Nick? And why?” They were questions that had burned inside her since she’d first had the vision of Dorrie and Nick.

  She saw him tighten his fingers around the steering wheel and was instantly sorry she’d asked. But when he spoke, his voice was soft and controlled.

  “It began five years ago in Chicago. Somebody was killing young women and carving into their chest the letter M. I became obsessed with the case from the moment I was assigned to it. The killer fascinated me. His victims were always the same…young, dark-haired and pretty. They were found in motel rooms, their throats slit and the carving done postmortem.”

  He turned onto the road she indicated, another dirt road little more than a path, then continued speaking. “The women weren’t sexually assaulted in any way and one day I mouthed off to a reporter that it was obvious the killer used his knife instead of his penis to violate the women. The next victim was raped and a taunting note to me was left by the killer.”

  “Oh, Nick.” She reached out and placed a hand on his arm, the muscles rigid beneath her touch.

  “My supervisor was thrilled that I’d managed to stir the perp to make personal contact and he encouraged me to continue the dialogue by talking to reporters. After every interview I gave, Murphy, as he called himself, contacted me by letter or by cell-phone calls, which were untraceable. We were hoping he’d give something away in those communications that would lead us to identify and arrest him.”

  “But he didn’t,” she said softly and removed her hand from his arm.

  Nick shook his head. “No, and in fact, the communications with me seemed to stir him to kill more women, kill faster, and so I was ordered to stop all communication and back off. It was around this time that the possibility of a transfer to Tulsa came up. Dorrie begged me to
take the transfer. Somehow she knew I’d gotten too close to this case, this killer. I finally agreed and we moved to Tulsa and I tried to put Murphy behind.”

  Again Alyssa noticed the white of his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel and she was sorry she’d asked, sorry to have brought the tragedy back into his mind. “Nick, you don’t have to finish if you don’t want to,” she said.

  He flashed her a grim smile. “No, it’s all right.” His fingers loosened slightly on the wheel. “Anyway, we’d only been in Tulsa for a few months when Dorrie was murdered, compliments of Murphy, and we’ve never caught him.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  “No. I never received another note, another phone call, nothing after Dorrie’s murder, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped looking for him. I’ve been hunting him for years and won’t really rest until he’s finally found and put away forever.”

  “Maybe he’s already in prison, or dead,” she said. “I mean, since you’ve never heard from him again, maybe he’s already been put away forever.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed, visibly relaxing. “Nowhere in the country has there been any more murders of women with his mark on them. Personally, I hope he’s burning in hell as we speak.”

  “That’s what he deserves,” she exclaimed, then pointed to a thick wooded area ahead. “There’s a road that turns off coming up on the right in the midst of those woods. You need to take it.”

  He cleared his throat and offered her another smile, this one less grim than the last. “Thanks for coming with me. I would have never found my way out here on my own.”

  “That’s all right. It’s kind of nice to be out of the bed-and-breakfast. I’ve been thinking about what you said last night about Michael Stanmeyer…about him fitting the physical profile of the killer?”

  “Yeah?” He slowed the car as the wooded trail they traveled narrowed.

  “I just thought I should tell you that I know he often goes out late in the evenings, although I don’t know what time he usually returns, and it’s been months and months since I’ve actually been inside his room.”