Out Of Control Read online

  When she heard the outer door to the rest room open, she flushed the toilet and leaned against the wall.

  “Miss Moretti?”

  She recognized Marion Jordan’s icy voice.

  “I’m here.” She hoped her voice sounded stronger to Marion than it did to her.

  “Are you all right? Mr. Garrett said he saw you hurry past his office and thought you might be ill.”

  And wouldn’t you just love that.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” She opened the door of the stall. “I think I ate something that disagreed with me.”

  The woman’s face was rigid with disdain, as if throwing up was no less than Dana deserved.

  “Well, if you’re sure you’re all right…”

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” Dana splashed cold water on her face, rinsed out her mouth, and blotted her skin with a paper towel. “Tell Mr. Garrett I appreciate everyone’s concern.”

  “All right then.” Marion turned to leave, then stopped. “Shall I tell him you’re finished?”

  “Yes. I’m getting ready to put everything back.” Dana knew she had to get out of here for a while. Other cases she’d written about had been approached dispassionately. The details, no matter how gory, had not disturbed her on a visceral level. But this was different. This was personal. This had happened to her.

  Back in the dusty room, she stored away the cartridges she’d been using, shoved her belongings into her briefcase, and picked up the stack of articles she’d sent to the printer. She’d pay for them on the way out.

  As she passed John Garrett’s office, she noticed the door was closed and heard the low hum of male voices. She wondered idly who he was meeting with that required a closed door and if it had something to do with her.

  Paranoid much?

  She swallowed a sigh as she went to pay for printing.

  ****

  “She wants to do what?” Cole Landry tilted his Stetson back on his head.

  “You heard me,” John Garrett said.

  Cole leaned back in his chair across from Garrett in the editor’s office and stared at him. “Tell me again.”

  “She plans to dig into the old pedophile killer cases.” He dropped into his chair behind the desk. “I left her going through files in the storage room, so let’s keep this conversation between ourselves.”

  Cole frowned. “You know how long it took the town to get over everything that happened. There are people who still haven’t recovered.”

  Even as a kid, he hadn’t been immune to the details of the horrific crimes. It had been impossible to avoid hearing about them.

  Garrett picked up a book on the side of his desk and handed it to the sheriff. “Here. Her latest. A best seller, just like all her others. Her picture’s on the back.” He flipped it over.

  The moment John handed him the book Cole realized why she seemed so familiar. Even he had seen her picture on the books in stores.

  “Damn good looking woman, despite everything,” Garrett went on. “Maybe you can romance her out of this pickle.”

  Cole stared at the picture. The editor was right. Dana Moretti, even in a photograph, had a latent sexuality that made him want to find out just how deep it went. Except for the eyes. He’d never seen such cold eyes in a woman.

  He handed the book back. “I think that falls outside the demands of my job, John. But I’ll have a talk with her about this. Maybe convince her what a bad idea this is.”

  Garrett shook his head. “No, let’s just see if the gruesome details chase her away first. Maybe she’ll decide she can’t hack it after all.”

  Cole pushed his chair back. “If not, I’ll think of something. I’m sure not anxious to have the county down on my head about her.”

  ****

  Barely able to tolerate the thought of food after her morning’s reading material, Dana instead looked for the real estate office that had registered on her consciousness the day before. One night at the High Ridge Motel was one night too many. When research kept her in the same place for several months, she’d learned to search out the availability of short-term rentals.

  Jane Milburn, the disgustingly perky real estate agent, was only too excited to sign a lease with famous best-selling true crime author Dana Moretti.

  “The owner won’t take less than six months, though,” she apologized, pushing the contract across the tiny desk in the tinier office. “Will that be all right? You didn’t say how long you plan to stay.”

  “I really don’t know yet, but the six months is no problem even if I leave early.” Dana signed both copies of the lease.

  “The house is completely furnished with linens, dishes, and cooking utensils,” Jane said in her best sales voice. “You’ll need to stop by the municipal building to change the utilities to your name and have a phone line activated.”

  “Thanks. I won’t need the phone. I can use my cell. But I’ll take of the others.” She was anxious to get moving and see where she’d be living for a while.

  “Are you here to work on another book?” Jane’s eyes sparkled with avid curiosity.

  “Yes, I am.” Dana folded her copy of the lease and stuck it in her purse with the keys. In a voice as level as she could make it she added, “I’m looking into the child abductions and murders that happened here some years ago.”

  The agent’s face closed up as if a shutter had lowered. All the friendly sparkle disappeared. “I’m sorry to hear that. It was a terrible time for High Ridge, and I know people won’t like having it dug up all over again.”

  “I understand the man was never caught.” She watched Jane’s reaction carefully.

  “That’s because it was some drifter or day laborer.” Jane’s tone was clipped and icy. “A person who hung around for a while and then moved on.”

  Dana raised an eyebrow. “Hung around for two years? Seems like someone would have noticed him during that time.”

  “Well, they didn’t and now he’s gone.” She studied Dana with cold eyes. All the perkiness had disappeared. “Maybe you won’t need that house after all. I’d be happy to tear up the contract.”

  “I think I’ll take my chances.” Dana’s tone matched hers.

  “Listen, Miss Moretti. I was just a little girl when everything happened, but I know what a terrible, terrible time it was for High Ridge. Everyone’s tried to put it behind them.” Jane slammed the desk drawer shut with a bang. “Don’t expect anyone to talk to you about it.”

  Dana pasted on her best professional smile. “I usually have pretty good luck getting people to open up to me. Maybe I will this time, too.”

  The real estate agent swept the contract into a folder, a signal the discussion was over.

  “I think we’re done here,” Her voice couldn’t have been colder if it was chipped from a freezer. She looked pointedly at her watch. “You should probably get moving if you want to take care of the utilities today.”

  “Thank you for everything.” Dana rose from her chair. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

  “Don’t count on it.” By now, the professional polish was completely gone.

  As she was unlocking her car, she noticed a black pickup cruising past her and a thread of memory dangled in her brain. Hadn’t she seen it someplace earlier? Like this morning? A shiver of unease skittered over her spine as she cranked up the engine on her little rented compact.

  ****

  “This is stupid,” Cole muttered to himself.

  What in hell was he doing following this woman? He’d left his county vehicle in the lot along with his uniform shirt and taken his truck. Strictly by chance, he’d seen her coming out of Janie Milburn’s office and head for the Gas and Go. He barely had enough time to make the vehicle switch and pick her up again. Now he stayed far enough behind her, allowing two or three vehicles to ride in between, hoping he wouldn’t tease her antennae.

  Where the hell was she going? She was heading for the west side of town, but what could she be looking for? There wasn’t al
l that much out that way. He muttered a curse when he saw her turn into the fairgrounds entrance. This was where the last two victims had been taken. Cole tried to remember if that tidbit had made it into the newspapers. Then he remembered she’d been going through old files this morning. Had she come to the last one already, the one about the little Nolan girls?

  He watched her park her car near the concession stand, get out, and walk to the picnic area. She stood, nearly as still as a statue, just staring around her as if trying to visualize what had happened. How did she do what she did? Get inside the minds of dead people and killers to find answers that eluded everyone else.

  He waited, wondering what she would do next. He was shocked at what he saw. She stumbled to a tree and vomited, then dropped onto one of the picnic benches and buried her head in her hands. From the way her shoulders shook, he knew she was crying and they weren’t any ladylike tears. So she wasn’t such a cold fish after all. Or was there something personal in all this? In the Marines, he’d learned to read people fast. Sometimes his very life depended on it. And his well-developed gut instinct told him. Something here just wasn’t adding up.

  He’d do a little more digging on Miss Dana Moretti.

  Eventually the tears must have dried up, because she dug a tissue out of her pocket, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and walked slowly back to her car. She looked up, and for a moment, Cole thought she’d seen him. Then she climbed into the little car, cranked the engine and tore out of the parking lot like every demon in the world was after her.

  ****

  The headache gestating since Dana got on the plane the day before was threatening to emerge full blown. After the episode at the fairgrounds, she wanted only to curl up in a fetal position and shut out the world. But she hadn’t checked out her rental yet and she needed at least the minimum of groceries and supplies. Freddie’s Gas and Go seemed the quickest answer.

  As she moved through the small convenience store, she had the sense that every pair of eyes was glued to her. Mulling over the presence of the “muckraker,” as she’d sometimes been called, and what it was going to mean to them and the county.

  From what little she’d seen so far, it didn’t appear that High Ridge had experienced a population explosion since she left, so she supposed it was just that a strange face piqued everyone’s interest. She didn’t know if John Garrett had mentioned to anyone what she was doing here, but she was sure Marion Jordan had.

  Did they react the same way Marion had? Did any of them read her books and recognize her? Did the killer? Was he here somewhere?

  Dredging up her best professional smile for the clerk, she paid for her purchases and carried them to her car. By the time she found the address on the directions Jane Milburn had given her and brought everything inside, Dana’s head felt as if she’d stuck it in a vise. Digging two aspirin from her purse, she swallowed them with a glass of water at the sink, closed her eyes, and willed the pain in her head to subside.

  The house was comfortably furnished and had obviously been recently cleaned, but it still had the stale, closed-in feeling that suddenly made her claustrophobic. Dana opened a couple of windows, welcoming the rush of air. She took time to put away her groceries, knowing she should put something in her empty stomach, but even the thought of food made her stomach heave again. What she needed first was something to ease the mental strain gripping her body. Something mindless to make her forget for a while why she was here.

  When her nerves were strung this tight, physical exercise usually did it for her. Deciding to take a run through her new neighborhood, she changed into shorts and a T-shirt and laced up her jogging shoes. What better way to familiarize herself with the area?

  She glanced around as she moved from the front porch to the wide sidewalk. A nice, neat neighborhood. Well kept. Quiet. Exactly the environment she needed.

  Taking a deep breath, she headed off, setting her pace, lengthening her stride as her body fell into the familiar rhythm. As her muscles stretched, she felt the tension ease. The evening air had a fresh smell to it, and a soft breeze teased at the tendrils of curls escaping her pony tail.

  In a moment it all changed, the breeze shifting to a freshening wind, heavy clouds moving in. She was ten blocks from the house when fat drops of rain began pelting her skin, and in seconds, she was soaked.

  She sloshed through the rapidly accumulating puddles and was wishing she’d opted for wine and a hot bath when a large, black pickup pulled to the curb and the passenger side window slid down. Dana began running faster, her natural fear of strangers, especially men, kicking in.

  “Hey!” The voice was deep, heavy, masculine. “Need a ride?”

  She glanced sideways. It was the same truck she’d seen earlier, she was sure. She didn’t stop long enough to get more than a brief glimpse of the driver. Male, wearing the traditional Stetson. Was it him? Had he already discovered her and identified the grown woman who was once the child?

  Just like that, the familiar panic threatened to swallow her up. The pounding of her heart and the sensation of air trapped in her lungs had little to do with her physical exertion. This was the same kind of paralyzing feared that wrapped its tentacles around her whenever she was confronted with an unknown, unexpected male presence.

  Dana pushed harder, strides eating up the distance back the way she’d come.

  Just let me get to the house. Please. Just let me get away from him.

  “You’re soaked,” the voice called to her as the truck slowed. “You’ll catch pneumonia. Be sensible. I promise I’m harmless. Come on. Let me give you a ride.”

  Yeah, right. God, make him get away from me.

  The voice didn’t sound familiar, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t him. He’d have changed, gotten older like she had. She increased her speed, hoping that would be a signal to back off. Her heart was trip-hammering so hard she expected it to leap through her chest at any moment. She’d stupidly left her cell phone in her purse so she couldn’t even call the sheriff.

  At the corner, the truck turned in front of her and she had a vague impression of a man at the wheel, but the rain made it impossible to see him clearly. There was a big dog, some kind of shepherd, sitting up in the back seat. When the truck stopped at the curb, literally in her path, the fear was so intense it choked her.

  Get away! Get away!

  “Listen, it’s all right,” the driver called. “I’m…”

  But she didn’t wait to hear who or what he was or to get a better look. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, she cut to the right and ran around the end of his truck. She headed through the yards of her unknown neighbors, knowing the truck couldn’t follow her there and hoping no one would think she was up to no good and shoot her.

  He won’t get out of the truck and follow me on foot, will he? Faster, Dana. Run Faster.

  Fear made her stride lengthen and her arms pump harder.

  A giant streak of lightning split the sky, and thunder rumbled as if it were right beside her as she reached her back porch. Fishing the key from her waterlogged shorts, she shoved her door open and fell into the utility room. Slamming the door shut, she sagged against the wall, every muscle in her body trembling. Her pulse was racing, and she thought her lungs would never get enough air again.

  I got away, I got away, I got away.

  Over and over, like a litany, the words reverberated in her mind as they tried to convince her that she was once again safe.

  Safe. What a joke. No place is safe.

  Finally, aware that she was standing in a widening puddle, she pulled off her soaked clothing and tossed it into the laundry sink.

  She hurried her bedroom and yanked her robe from the bed where she’d tossed it earlier, pulling it on and yanking the belt tight. Still shaking, she moved through the house, slamming shut the windows she’d opened, checking deadbolts and window locks until she was satisfied she was as secure as she could make herself. Safe enough at any rate to take a hot shower and chase the chill away.


  When she’d caught her breath, she searched in the utility room and found a mop, using it to clean up the rain that had come in through the open windows. As she moved mechanically through the chore, images from her past clashed with those created by the articles she’d read today. She had to get this done before she turned into a complete basket case.

  Tonight she’d force herself to read again everything she’d brought home from the newspaper. Tomorrow she’d hit the sheriff’s office and request copies of the files of those old cases. She just hoped she could get through all the explicit details without getting sick again.

  Leaving the mop to dry, she headed into her bathroom and turned on the shower full force. With the hot water beating down on her, the tightness around her chest finally loosened and her pulse rate slowed. Leaning against the tiled wall, she willed the water to wash away both the memories and the ever-present dread.

  Later, dried and wrapped in her sleep shirt, she managed to get down a bowl of soup. Finally, she crawled into the strange bed and tried to empty her mind. She closed her eyes, but the image of the ominous black truck wouldn’t go away. Others might say, in a small town like High Ridge, the man was just being neighborly. He was harmless. What could happen in a nice town like this?

  Dana knew. Oh, yes. She knew all too well. So she’d run, just as she always had. Old habits definitely died hard.

  And fear never went away.

  Chapter Three

  He’d had a busy day, taking care of his public business so he could take care of his private activities tonight. In town, he’d heard all about the famous Dana Moretti, best-selling true crime author, who had descended on his small town. Gossip had her digging up old ghosts, but that didn’t worry him. Still it wouldn’t hurt for him to check her out. Get a handle on her.

  Meanwhile, he had things to take care of. Things that satisfied his needs. He looked at the small prepubescent girl in front of him, barely able to stop from smacking his lips.

  “Well,” he drawled, “aren’t you just the sweetest little morsel. We’re going to have us some fun.”