Danger Signals

Chapter 9

Tierney sat enveloped in silence as Wade drove his unmarked police sedan through Portland's lazy Saturday-morning traffic. The silence was deep and profound, a silence of feelings as well as words.

She knew how much effort it cost him to break it when he finally threw her a glance and muttered, "I'm sorry about this. I really am."

"I know." She said it without thinking, and felt stung when he gave back a bark of sardonic laughter.

"Yeah. I guess you do, don't you."

"Not because of…that. I just…know," she said, studying his rigid profile. "You've gotten very good at blocking me, actually."

He didn't reply. A few minutes later he made several turns, and she recognized the streets, remembered the last time she'd been here. She'd been here with Wade, and then, as now, sitting beside him in his car in a painful silence that felt like the aftermath of a lover's quarrel.

Only then, unlike now, it had been his thoughts-a man's sex thoughts, involuntary, lustful and bawdy-coming through loud and clear that made the silence so awkward. That was then…before he'd gotten so good at blocking.

He looked over at her as if he'd heard her thoughts. "What?" he demanded to know as she turned her head quickly to hide them.

She shrugged and replied the only way she could. "Nothing."

Nothing…

There she goes again with that lie. His lips twitched, but he decided to let it go, this time. Because he'd just remembered the last time he'd driven her home with him, and why.

He cleared his throat and in what he hoped was a casual way, said, "Heard anything from my stalker lately?"

She looked at him and then away again. "The Watcher?" she pointedly said, correcting him.

She felt irritable, argumentative. And she wasn't those things, not normally. Feeling vaguely ashamed but no less angry- Angry? Is that what I am? Then…why? And at who?-she said in a tight voice, "No-I haven't."

She felt his quick, questioning glance. Then a shrug. "Guess he found out what he wanted to know and moved on."

But she was remembering that first vivid impression from The Watcher, that surge of pure joy. I found you!

She'd told Wade about that, but he'd obviously forgotten. Or, she told herself, still teetering on the brink of that inexplicable anger-Yes, Wade, I'm angry with you, and I'm not sure why!-he simply insisted on clinging to his own interpretation and was completely ignoring hers.

It seemed so obvious to her. the reason The Watcher- she was sure he was the man they'd met in the Rose Garden, the man with the camera, journalist Cory Pearson-no longer felt the need to shadow Wade. Quite simply, he'd "found" him. She was certain he'd come to the Rose Garden that day intending to speak to him, to make himself-and perhaps his reasons for tracking Wade down-known. And for some reason, he hadn't. Why? She hadn't picked up any feelings of fear or anxiety from him when he'd learned Wade was a cop. In fact, she felt sure he'd already known. And yet he'd lost his nerve about coming clean. Again-why?

A thought came to her. A notion so incredible, a possibility so emotionally overwhelming, she couldn't keep it inside. She tried her best but must have jerked, winced, made some small sound.

Naturally, Wade's immediate response was a demanding, "What?"

And of course she replied, "Nothing." This wasn't something she could just spring on him out of the blue. And it was just a thought…

"Don't lie to me." His voice was harsh with the pain he'd been keeping from her. "Don't shut me out."

When his own words registered with him a moment later, he laughed without feeling the slightest bit amused. "Man, I do hope you got the irony in that."

He paused again, having deduced from her silence that she was hurt, maybe even angry. "Look," he began, then went on in a softer voice, "I've done things with you, felt things… I've never done or felt with any woman before. So…don't shut me out, Miss Tee. Please."

She nodded, made a small throat-sound, then said evenly, "I won't if you won't."

He tightened his jaw. clamped down on his temper. "Damn it, that's not fair."

She exhaled and said tiredly. "No, I guess it isn't."

He felt those candid blue eyes of hers on him but didn't return the look. After a moment she faced forward again, and when she spoke her voice sounded blurred…indistinct. He hoped to God she wasn't crying.

"We didn't get a chance to really talk about this, did we? About what we're going to do."

He pulled into the Hofmeyer's driveway and shifted into Park. He wanted to talk about this, but not now, damn it. He waited a moment, fortifying himself, then turned to her. "How about this? We take it one day…one hour at a time. See what happens."

There was a long pause before she nodded and murmured. "Okay."

For some reason her cooperation didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it almost made him feel worse. And he had no idea why.

It looked to him like gender communications issues didn't get easier just because one of the people involved happened to be psychic.

"I need to shower and shave, put on some clean clothes," he ventured finally. "Shouldn't take long. Do you want to come up and wait? You can nuke some day-old coffee, if you like."

She shook her head. Muttered, "Thanks. I'll just wait here."

Hell. Head movements and words of one syllable seemed to be about it for her right now. He'd gotten more out of suspects in interrogation.

He got out of the car and was about to slam the door when he thought better of it, ducked down to say, "Be right back," then closed it carefully.

Complications, he thought as he stormed up the driveway. I used to be better at avoiding them. What the hell happened?

Tierney watched Wade go through the gate between the house and garage, then turn the corner and disappear around the back. It was rapidly becoming too warm in the car, so she opened her door to let some cooler air in. She put her head back against the head rest and closed her eyes, feeling bruised in mind and spirit, buffeted by storms of emotion- her own, for a change. How had she let this happen?

She knew better, too. People like her weren't cut out for entanglements like this. The emotional strain was simply too much. Especially now. On top of everything she had to deal with.

Lonely!

The emotional cannonball seemed to come out of nowhere. And no one. Tierney jerked upright and looked around, but there wasn't a soul in sight, not on the street, or in any of the yards. In fact, the only living creature abroad in the neighborhood appeared to be a very fat, very bored-looking basset hound sitting in the middle of the flagstone path that led to the gate through which Wade had just passed.

Lonely!

"No," Tierney whispered, staring at the animal, "don't tell me."

The basset gazed at her with a superior expression of the type usually associated with British butlers.

She got out of the car and squatted down so as to be more on a level with the creature. "Okay, dog," she muttered. "What'sa matter, hmm? Are you the one who's lonely?"

Lonely…curious… hopeful…

The hound heaved his massive hind end off the pavers and waddled toward her without haste, nose to the ground, ears dragging. Tierney met him halfway, lowered herself into a half crouch and held out her hand for the animal to sniff. She wasn't terribly experienced with dogs, but it seemed to her this was what people did when meeting a strange one.

This dog, however, displayed no interest whatsoever in her offering. He turned his head and gazed dolefully down the street.

Since he didn't appear to possess the energy required to actually bite anyone. Tierney decided to take the risk of patting him on the head.

Love! Adoration!

Amazing, Tierney thought, collapsing onto her knees beside the dog and silently laughing. Who would have guessed?

Adoration! Devotion!

Tears stung her eyes. The dog continued to regard her with what seemed to be utter disdain as she fondled his long silky ears and murmured dopey endearments.

"Unbelievable," Wade said.

Tierney looked up and her heart performed an impossible maneuver.

He was freshly shaven and showered, dressed in tan slacks and a light blue shirt open, as always, at the neck. A navy-blue blazer was slung over one shoulder, hanging from a crooked finger. His eyes were so vivid a blue it made her own eyes smart to look into them.

"This is the sweetest dog." she said, hiding her shakiness with laughter. "Is he yours?"

"Sweet. You're kidding, right?" He snorted. "The mutt smells like a rancid landfill. On a hot day."

"Oh, he does not." She looked down at the dog. who had turned his head to stare haughtily at Wade over one shoulder. "What's his name?"

"Bruno. And if he hasn't gassed you out yet, give him a minute. He prefers sneak attacks. He's my landlords' dog, and the bane of my existence. I would have caught me a stalker the other night if it hadn't been for this lazy-"

"He's got a nervous stomach." Tierney informed him as she got to her feet, brushing off her jeans. She gave Wade an accusing look. "You make him nervous, actually. He knows you don't like him."

"Unbelievable," he breathed, gazing at her in wonderment. "I leave you alone for ten minutes and you become a dog whisperer."

He'd done some whispering with himself during those ten minutes, a good part of which had been spent staring at his own countenance in the mirror. What he'd seen there hadn't made him happy. He was used to thinking of himself as one of the good guys, and didn't much care for the complete and total jackass looking back at him.

The first thing he'd reminded himself was that, whatever was going on with Tierney. it wasn't in any way. shape or form her fault. As far as the job and the case went, she was doing what she'd been called on to do. Doing it even though it was causing her a considerable amount of pain and suffering, and even though she had enough on her plate already just trying to look after a grandmother with Alzheimer's. And as for what happened between them last night…well, no matter what she said, he knew that was on him.

The second thing? Completely aside from what had happened between them last night, she was first and foremost his partner. She should be able to trust him to look out for her. And she definitely deserved better than she'd gotten from him so far.

Well-not counting the sex. He didn't see how he was ever going to top last night in that department. Assuming he ever got a chance to try.

Yeah, he told himself, gazing down into her radiant face and shimmering eyes, this is the way to go. Partners. Keep things on a strictly professional basis between us. Until we get this other thing figured out, anyway…

At least it looked like she'd gotten over being mad at him. or whatever it was that had been bothering her.

"You want me to take you to pick up your car before we head out to the suspect's place?" he asked as he fished his keys out of his pocket.

Her eyes followed Bruno as he went ambling off toward his favorite shady spot under the rhododendrons. Then she gave Wade a distracted smile that faded as he watched, and murmured. "I'd rather go with you-if that's okay."

She's dreading this, he thought. And then, in mild surprise, Man, I 'm getting pretty good at this empathy thing.

He reached out one arm. hooked it around her neck and drew her close, allowing himself one brief moment, no more. Partners…

He closed his eyes, exhaled, then kissed the top of her head and let her go. When he did, something kicked him painfully under his ribs.

Partners? Who am I kidding?

"Mind if I ask who this person is-and how you found him?" Tierney asked.

"Traffic tickets." Wade smiled darkly, aware that at the moment they were speeding through considerably more traffic than there'd been earlier this morning and he was in some danger of receiving a citation himself. He didn't want to use his stick-on lights and siren on the way to meet SWAT on the off chance their suspect was in the vicinity, after all.

"Traffic tickets?" He felt her eyes on him as she waited for his explanation.

He glanced in his mirrors and executed an illegal lane change before giving her one.

"Yeah…since Officer Williams was a traffic cop, we figured maybe this creep targeted her because she'd given him one recently. Came up with a whole slew of possibles based on age and gender, then searched those for backgrounds that fit the profile you gave us. That knocked the list all the way down to seven. Interviews made it three-a small enough number that we were able to get warrants to search phone and credit card records. That's where we hit paydirt. Phone records were a bust, but turns out one of our candidates-fellow by the name of James Jeffry Larson, known in his checkered past as J.J.-had some expense items that dovetailed nicely with several of the murders." He paused for a tire squeal and leaned into a high-speed turn. When the car had stopped fishtailing, he smiled grimly at the mirrors and then at the street ahead. "Now I guess we'll see if those were just coincidences, or if this is our guy."

There was no immediate response from his passenger, but he could tell she was looking at him. He risked a glance and found something in those blue eyes of hers that made a jolt of purely masculine elation go shooting through him-probably an unnecessary boost to the adrenaline already there.

"What?" he said, and braced for her usual evasive reply.

It didn't come. "It's pretty amazing, what you do." she said as she shifted her gaze to the front again. "The police work, I mean. In fact, I really don't know why you needed me."

He gave her another quick look, wondering if she was regretting the circumstances that had brought them together. Maybe wishing they hadn't happened?

"Just basic detective work, Miss Tee. A whole lot of man-hours, most of them not mine, by the way. The kind of eye-crossingly boring stuff you don't get to see on those TV cop shows. And yeah, we probably would have gotten here eventually without you. But not before who knows how many other women had to die unspeakable deaths. Die in terror and pain." He pulled his car into the parking area where the SWAT van and other members of his team had gathered, waiting for him. He cut the motor, pulled the keys and turned in the seat to face her.

"You shut him down, Tierney," he said quietly. "I know it cost you. But those women the slime bag didn't get to kill? That's on you."

He watched her eyes fill and knew he didn't dare touch her. He felt a weakening in his muscles and a cold knot in the pit of his stomach. Pure fear. What was the woman doing to him?

She looked away from him…he saw her swallow, and blink her vision clear as she stared through the windshield. Then she went sheet-white.

"Wade-this is-"

"The park where the next-to-last victim was found. Your first. Yeah," he said with a grim smile, "that's one of those little things that might be coincidence-or not. The guy, J. J. Larson, lives just five blocks from here."

He told her to stay put, then got out of the car and went to confer with the other members of the task force.

Ed Francks came to meet him, stopped him a short distance from the rest of the take-down team and handed him a vest. "Hey, partner, where's your cryst-"

Wade cut him off right there. "Don't say it, Ed. Not you, too. I swear to God-" He gave it up. exhaled and pointed with a head jerk. "She's with me. In the car."

"Got one of these for her, too. Want me to-"

"I'll take it."

He looked up from what he was doing, strapping on the vest, getting his weapon and badge squared away. "What're you laughin' at?"

"Me? I ain't laughin". Who's laughing?"

"Grinnin" like a fool, then."

"That right? Well, since you mention fools. I'm remembering some things vow said last time we were together in this park. Something about…what was it? Oh yeah… cheerleaders…"

Wade squinted his eyes in a mock grimace of pain. "Ed, you and me go back a long way. Doesn't mean I won't kick your ass."

That got him a hoot of friendly derision. Then a semi-serious, "Just watchin' out for you, man." Then a genuinely serious, "You just watch out for that little lady."

"Yeah." Wade gave his vest a final hitch and took the smaller one Francks handed him. "See you there, man."

The two men touched knuckles…grasped thumbs. Which was as close to embracing as most cops get.

The take-down team rolled silently onto the suspect's street from opposite ends, leaving vehicles parked in strategic positions in order to block it. If the suspect was on the premises and took a notion to flee, he'd have to do it on foot.

Wade pulled his unmarked gray sedan in behind the SWAT van where it would be screened from the suspect's house and any flying bullets-or emotions-in case things went bad. He shut it down and pocketed the keys.

"Wait here until I come for you," he said tersely. "I mean it, Miss Tee. Stay put and keep your head down."

"I will." It was a whisper. Her lips looked pinched, her cheeks pale. He couldn't bring himself to look at her eyes.

Lord, how he wanted to kiss her.

She nodded and managed a smile, and he knew he'd forgotten to block. And for once, didn't give a damn. He opened the door, got out. hit the safety locks and slammed the door. And walked quickly off to join his team.

Things went off like clockwork.

Communicating with hand signals, the team members took up their positions, surrounding the house and blocking every possible exit. When he was satisfied everyone was in place. Wade rapped on the front door with his knuckles-taking care to stand to one side in case the suspect should take a notion to open fire-and yelled out the customary command.

"James Larson, this is Portland P.D. We have a warrant to search the premises. Open up, please."

After a brief wait, another knock, with his fist this time. "Police, Mr. Larson. Open the door."

Wait a short three-count. Try the doorknob. Locked. A nod to the SWAT guys standing by with the ram. A huge surge of adrenaline as the door crashed open, and officers in helmets and body armor with weapons at full ready made their way through the rooms, one by one, leapfrogging, taking turns covering each other.

"Clear!"

Shift…point. "Clear!"

Satisfied finally that the perp was not on the premises, everyone stood down, still jumped up on the adrenaline they didn't get to use and now didn't quite know what to do with. They looked around, looked at each other, took deep breaths, relaxed their arms, stowed their weapons. But nobody smiled. Not yet.

Wade was on his way down the front steps, going to get Tierney, when one of the task force detectives, Ochoa, stuck his head out the door and gestured for him to come back. "Callahan, you better see this." The edge of suppressed excitement in Detective Ochoa's voice was impossible to miss.

Wade followed him through completely unremarkable rooms, filled with the sort of shabby, unremarkable stuff he'd seen a thousand times before, in homes of perps and victims alike. Nothing to tell him whether James Jeffry Larson was capable of stalking, kidnapping, systematically and gruesomely torturing and murdering seven innocent women.

Until he stepped into the garage.

Like a lot of suburban garages, this one had been finished inside for living space rather than housing cars, probably without city permits being involved, since it still looked like a normal garage from the outside. Part of this garage contained the kind of stuff you'd expect in an add-on room-laundry facilities, pool table, treadmill, small bar with an extra fridge. Except for the washer and dryer, none of these things appeared to have been used in a while. Most likely installed by a former resident. Wade thought.

Ochoa led him through the clutter to a small room that had been partitioned off on the far side of the two-car garage. The door to the room stood open, and Wade could see a couple more of his detectives moving around inside.

"Santa's been good to us this year," Ochoa said gleefully, seemingly unaware they were a long way from Christmas.

Wade glanced at Ochoa's grim but triumphant face and stepped through the door. And realized it wasn't going to be necessary for Tierney to come in. after all.

It was all there. What every homicide cop dreams of finding in a suspect's house. The trophies, photos, articles clipped from newspapers and magazines covering every murder, every victim. Photos taken of his victims while they were alive and happy, and later when they very much were not, tacked up on every wall like a gruesome parody of an art gallery.

Art gallery…

"Have a look." Ed Francks' voice was a low rumble only Wade could have recognized as fury.

Wade took the piece of newsprint Ed handed him and felt his soul freeze and his body go numb. Staring up at him in newspaper headline black and white were the words: Does PPD Have A Crystal Ball?

They were all over the desktop, tacked to a corkboard on the wall beside it. Newspaper articles about the Portland cop with the crystal ball. Grainy photos of Tierney, circled in red marker, slashed, mutilated.

It was his worst fear made real.

A wave of nausea hit him. He felt cold, light-headed. Through the ringing in his ears he heard someone ask him if he was okay. He didn't have any idea what he answered.

The next thing he knew he was outside that house and running down the street. Running as fast as he ever had in his life, he rounded the SWAT van. And now he could see Tierney's face through his car's windshield. She had both hands up, covering the bottom half of her face, and above them her eyes were wide with horror.

My God, what am I doing?

He jolted to a halt, heart pounding, knees shaking, and put out a hand, a gesture meant to reassure her and at the same time stop himself. Stop the terrible avalanche of emotions he knew she must be feeling like a physical assault.

He managed to get the door unlocked and jerked it open.

"Tee, I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" He flung himself into the driver's seat and stared up at the headliner. breathing hard. "God…I'm so sorry."

"Wade…" Her voice sounded small and scared, like a child trying not to cry.

He shook his head. He'd never wanted so much to touch someone. Reach out for her, wrap her up in his arms and hold her. He would, too, but not here. Not now. First he had to get her away from this place. As far away and as fast as he possibly could.

He thought about what would have happened to her if he'd taken her into that house. Thought about what she'd have had to experience. The horrors.

Bile rose into his throat. He stabbed the keys blindly at the ignition a couple of times before it occurred to him he might not be in fit condition to drive anywhere at the moment, and he gave up and pounded impotently on the steering wheel with a clenched fist instead.

"Sorry," he muttered again. It seemed all he was capable of saying to her.

Someone rapped sharply on the car window, inches from his elbow. He looked up to find Ed Francks' dark face and worried eyes peering in at him. He ran the window down and Ed's fingers curved over the edge and followed it the last half of the way.

"Hey, man, you okay?" He didn't wait for Wade's reply, but moved the look of concern and compassion past him to where Tierney sat silent and pale.

"Yeah," Wade growled, and it was so obvious a lie he amended it to, "will be."

"She needs to be away from here. You want me to drive her-"

"No. Stay here. Make sure they get every scrap of evidence, every hair, fiber and print. I want this guy, Ed. I want him caught. Locked up."

Which was another lie. He wanted him dead. And he knew his old partner understood when he gave the window-sill a slap and stood back, his jaw set and eyes like obsidian.

"We'll take care of things here." Ed said quietly. "You go on-get her to a safe place. And keep her there until we get the sonofabitch. okay?"

"Count on it." Wade made another try with the keys and this time his hand was steady as a rock.