Before She Dies (Alexandria Novels 3)

“Do you?”

&n

bsp; She grinned. “Why would I not?”

“Good question.” He moved to leave and then stopped. “Why were you in court the other day?”

“How did you know that?”

He grinned. “I saw you with Charlotte Wellington.”

Surprise gave way to knowing. “You noticed me or Ms. Wellington?”

Points for perception, kid. “All that matters is that I saw you. Why were you there?” He’d checked but wanted her version.

“A minor problem with a local shopkeeper. He accused me of stealing. I was innocent and the judge agreed.”

“Were you found innocent or did Ms. Wellington do her magic and shoot holes in the Commonwealth’s case?”

“The end result is the same.” She glanced toward the tent. “Detective, I really must get back to work. Every minute you stand here is costing me money.”

“Sure. I may be in touch.”

“Of course.”

He ducked as he moved out of the tent opening and glanced at the growing line of people waiting to see Sooner. She had a dozen people waiting.

The sun had set and the lights on the rides had softened the carnival’s hard edges. Excitement buzzed in the air as more and more families and couples started to arrive.

What the hell kind of connection did Charlotte have to this place? Why had she doubled back to see Sooner?

Puzzles or mysteries irritated him until he had the answer in his sights.

Sooner shoved out a breath full of tension and fear once the detective left. The man possessed a strong aura filled with steel and resolve. He was not a man to anger. Her mind tripped to the moment she’d mentioned Charlotte Wellington to him. Though his expression did not change, his energy shifted into high gear and he clearly inwardly bristled.

She grinned. “I wonder if Charlotte knows she is in his sights.”

The next few hours were an endless stream of the lovelorn or those searching for some unattainable answer. Will I get the job? Will I find that ring? What are my chances with the lottery?

So weak were their auras, she barely could feel the energy around them. Later in the evening, a man entered her tent and caught her attention. Before he even crossed the ten feet from the door to her desk, she felt him. Like Detective Rokov, he had a strong powerful energy that had her sitting straighter and playing close attention to his features.

He wore a green baseball cap, glasses, and a dark jacket he’d zipped up to his throat. His hair was a deep brown and so long it brushed broad shoulders that appeared padded. Jeans and sneakers completed a look that was very nondescript.

As much as he tried to look like a Nobody, she knew there was more to this man. He had a need and hunger in him that teetered on starving.

Sooner cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “What can I do for you this evening?”

“Me? I thought maybe I could help you. I heard you were looking for me.” He slid gloved hands into his pants pockets.

“I’m not looking for anyone.” Her foot grazed the panic button Grady had installed under her table. Every bit of emotion in her screamed to press it as logic struggled to sooth her worries. “I am here to give help, sir. I am not searching.”

“The article said you were looking for a killer,” he said. “I might be able to help you find him.”

Fear rolled over her skin in waves. She didn’t know if he was a nut job looking for attention or something far more dangerous. It didn’t matter. She pressed the button with her foot. “You need to leave this tent now. I have security coming.”

“I don’t think they’re coming.”

“What do you mean?” She pressed the button several more times and reached for the baseball bat she kept at her side. She’d only had to use it a couple of times, but each time it had been worth its weight in gold.

“I saw the wire and cut it. No one is coming.”

Her confidence ebbed and she glanced around the tent wondering if she could reach the exit before he grabbed her. Instead of debating the issue or worrying about the buzzer, she summoned help the old-fashioned way.

She screamed.

“I’ll see you soon.” The man smiled and then quickly turned on his heel and left the tent. Bat in hand, she rose from her seat and moved to the entrance, where a few stunned and confused customers waited. The carnival’s noise and music had drowned out her scream and only those at the front of the line had heard her.

“Hey, lady, are you all right?” The question came from the first woman in line. She sported an oversized Redskins T-shirt, a bag of popcorn, and a giant panda.

Sooner searched for the man but already he’d vanished into the crowds. Whoever Mr. Creepazoid was, he was gone now. Grady had said the article would jostle the nuts out of the trees. She considered telling Grady, but hesitated. Soon she’d be on her own and would have to handle situations like this alone. And calling Rokov, well, a lifetime distrusting cops was a hard habit to break. “Fuck.”

“What did you say?” said Redskins lady.

Realizing she’d broken character, she straightened her shoulders. If Grady had taught her one thing, it was that it was the illusion that kept them in business. “So sorry. I was chasing away the evil spirits.”

“So can I get my reading?” Redskins lady said.

“Yes, darling, please enter.” Heart still pounding, she made a grand sweep of her hands and vanished into the tent.

It was past 1 a.m. when Grady was able to sit at his desk and plow through the night’s earnings. Judging by the stack of cash and credit card receipts, it had been a very good night. He’d known Sooner would be the draw that he needed. The girl was just coming into her own, and her beauty and her talent with people could make her a grand draw for years to come.

Years to come.

He reached for the tumbler full of whiskey and drained half of it.

He didn’t have years. He had months if he was lucky.

He glanced at the piles of cash, skimmed a couple hundred of the smaller bills away, and shoved them in his pocket. He wrote up the bank deposit slip, which he’d drop off in the morning.

When his work was complete, he glanced at the clock. Three fourteen. He should be tired. The doc in Nashville had told him to sleep more. But his head buzzed. Sleep had become harder and harder in the last year, and tonight he’d be lucky to get an hour or two. Glancing at his unmade bunk with a bit of resentment, he rose and moved to the window that overlooked the carnival. A few trailers remained lit up, and the sound of music drifted from Buster’s trailer, but all in all the place was quiet.

He moved to the safe, opened the door, and dropped in the bank deposit bag. He was about to close the safe door when he spotted the folder in the bottom. Digging it out, he locked the safe and went to the dinette. He refilled his scotch before he sat down.

Opening the file, he leafed through the yellowed newspaper articles. WOMAN FOUND SLAIN, Raleigh. HIKER DROWNED, Charleston. WOMAN RAPED AND MURDERED,

Nashville. There were at least two dozen articles like these three. All featured women in the Southeast who’d been kidnapped, held, and then violently murdered.

The cities and times had been scattered enough that the cops in the different jurisdictions did not realize they were dealing with the same killer. But he knew.

Slowly, he turned each article over and over until he reached the last that he’d clipped out just days ago.

The article featured Diane Young.

Chapter 13

Monday, October 25, 9:15 a.m.

Charlotte’s legs ached as she hurried up the courthouse’s front steps. The last couple of days had been a blur of work. Friday’s client dinner had gone well, and she’d spent the weekend drawing up contracts. He wasn’t a huge fish but the work fees would help. Breaks had centered on visiting the new apartment, determining what she could keep, calling the clerk on the White case, and making sure the movers were ready to pack up her life on Friday.

She pushed through the glass front doors

and hurried over to the line at security. She dumped her purse and briefcase in the bin and sent it through the scanner as she ducked under the sensors. The buzzer beeped and she glanced at the security guard, a tall black man with a shaved head and stern expression.

Without being told, she moved forward and held up her arms as he rose off his stool with his wand. “Morning, Ms. Wellington.”

She smiled and tried not to look impatient. “Morning, Oscar. How’s it going?”

“It’s going just about like any other Monday.”

“That sounds ominous.” He brushed the wand and paused at her belt. She glanced at the large buckle and rolled her eyes. “Sorry, I wasn’t even thinking today.”

“Naw, just a lot of harmless fun.”

Moving backward, she dumped her belt in a bin and sent it through the scanner. This time when she walked through, no alarm beeped.

“All clear.” He watched as she refastened her belt and grabbed her purse and briefcase. “I’d say by those dark circles under your eyes, you could use a fun weekend.”

“I never have fun, Oscar. Life is about work for me.” Lately, she’d envied people like Oscar who could leave work behind and just break free. The only times she’d really acted without analyzing had been her nights with Rokov. Now, she couldn’t even think about him without considering complications.

“So I hear the jury is back today?”

“It is.” It had been seven days since the judge had given the jury instructions in the Samantha White case. Never in those seven days was the case far from her mind, and though the lengthy deliberations were a good sign, the constant worry was chewing up her stomach.

“You always got work on the brain.”

“Always.”

“You’re too young and pretty not to have some fun.”