“That’s not the kind of thinking that’s going to do us any good, sweetheart. If we’re going to catch a serial killer, we’re going to have to get out in front of him. Worrying about whether or not you forced me to go fishing when no one has ever forced me to do anything is kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t see any part of him,” Stella confessed. “Nothing that would help me identify him. I was so focused on getting to you that I didn’t think to even look at his equipment. The water was murky because the bottom had been stirred up and it was difficult to see. I was cold and terrified I wasn’t going to get to you in time. I didn’t even think to wear a knife.”
“He knows about this fishing spot, but a lot of those who come here year after year know all the best fishing spots. When anyone goes to the bait shop and asks, Roy gives them a map of the various spots and even marks how to get to them,” Sam reminded.
“That’s true,” Stella conceded. She hadn’t thought of that. “He was wearing a wet suit and swimming in the lake, which means he at least knows his way around it somewhat. If he’s local, what would trigger him to start killing?”
“If you hung out with the FBI, you probably know more than I do. My guess would be serial killers kill for a variety of reasons. Anger. Thrills. Money. Even power. Sex. Sometimes it could be seeking attention. That to me all sounds logical enough, but then are serial killers logical? Who the hell knows?”
Stella scowled at the lake. Her beautiful lake. “Whoever thought up this murder went to a lot of trouble to make it appear an accident. We’re in a secluded spot. He donned scuba gear and swam under ice-cold water and carried out an elaborate scheme in order to fool the ME, the sheriff and everyone else.”
“To be a serial killer, which he would have to be to trigger your nightmares, means he plans on carrying out more than one murder, right?” Sam mused.
She nodded. “I don’t get nightmares every time someone is murdered. I have to be in very close proximity to a serial killer. This has only happened twice before this.”
“If he wants the murders to look like accidents, we can rule out attention seeking and sex as motivators.”
“Denver always fishes here with Bruce. It’s their favorite spot. He inherited a great deal of money. When I say a great deal, I mean millions. More than millions. Enough that someone may want to kill him for that money.”
Again, Sam was quiet, turning that information over and over in his mind. “If Denver is the target, he would be a single target. Our murderer wouldn’t be a serial killer.”
“Unless he wanted to cover his tracks by making it look as if Denver was one of many if the so-called accidents were discovered,” Stella pointed out. She felt that was a little too far in left field, but who knew what went on in the mind of a killer? “I’m just glad Denver and Bruce were both drinking last night.”
She looked up at him and smiled, realizing she was warm again and had coffee. Her dog was right there and even the colors in the lake were once again beautiful and nonthreatening. She had Sam to talk things over with.
Sam shook his head. “Woman.”
“Man.” The smile faded from her face. “I don’t want to count on you, Sam, and then have you disappear. It would be better never to start anything and just let me figure it out on my own than to let me lean on you and you pull out when I think you’re going to be here.”
Stella let herself look at him, even though it was difficult. She had to know. She wasn’t a coward. It wasn’t as if his expression ever changed. He was a master at giving nothing away.
“I’m broken, Stella, and I don’t let anyone near me. It’s not a good idea. But you … you managed to work your way in. Maybe because we’re both a little broken. You never ask. You never push. You don’t mind silence. You just accept me. I came to these mountains and found the first true peace I’ve had in years. And then the mountains gave me you. Just being close to you brings me peace. If that’s all I ever get, I’ll take it. You offer more, and I’ll go for it in a heartbeat and never be stupid enough to throw it away.”
As romantic declarations went, it wasn’t up there with Shakespeare, but Stella didn’t need a poet. Sam kept his word. If he said he’d stay, he would. If he declared she was it for him, he meant it.