Cooper Vengeance Page 5

  It wasn’t enough that she’d broken the law by picking the lock and tossing his room. She’d done so without any thought of what would happen if he caught her. What did she know about him, really? He’d told her some sob story about his dead wife, and he’d talked up Margo, the town gossip, but how much of what he’d told either of them was the truth?

  He made no attempt to move out of her way. She faltered to a stop in front of him, drawing herself up to her full five feet nine inches, and he was still several inches taller than she was.

  “You couldn’t look me up on your computers at the station?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m on administrative leave.”

  “For breaking and entering?” he shot drily.

  She supposed she deserved that. “Because apparently the department-ordered psychologist thinks I’m a danger to myself, my fellow deputies and the public.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.” Though she couldn’t muster much conviction in the denial, considering he’d just caught her snooping in his motel room without permission.

  His lips curved, as if he could read her mind. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  She glanced over at the photos on the bed. “Maybe more than I was looking for.”

  “Your sister looked like those women.” He wasn’t asking a question, just making an observation. Carrie’s picture had been included in the Banner article. He must have seen the similarities between her and the victims in those photos. It was probably what had drawn him here in the first place.

  “I found her body,” she confessed in a reed-thin voice, wishing in vain that she could be stronger and more professional at this moment. “She was lying on the kitchen floor at Annabelle’s. Stretched out straight. On her back, with her arms by her sides. Palms down. You’d have thought she was asleep.”

  “Except for the blood.”

  Her gaze snapped up to find him looking at her, his expression soft with sympathy. “Except for the blood,” she agreed. “Twelve puncture wounds. Deep. Tore up her insides.”

  “He twists the knife.” J.D.’s words came out in a growl.

  Her chest ached in response. “Yes.”

  J.D. finally moved out of the way, crossing to the bed. Setting the newspaper and gun case on the bedside table, he silently gathered the photographs and returned them to the folder. He put them back in correct order—the way she’d found them before she had spread the photos out on the bed—apparently, he knew the folder contents by heart. He tucked it against his chest, holding it with one arm as he might hold a child.

  The door in front of her was open. There was no reason she shouldn’t leave while she had the chance. But a question that had nagged at her since the day before wouldn’t remain unasked. “How did you know to come here?”

  His head snapped up, as if he had forgotten she was still there. “You mean to Terrebonne?”

  She nodded. “What made you think Carrie’s murder matched the others you’ve been looking into?”

  “She looks like Brenda.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Your sister looks more like her, in some ways, than any of the other victims.” His faraway gaze focused on Natalie. “Not much like you, though.”

  “Carrie looked like my mother,” Natalie explained. “I take after my father.”

  “Brenda was from here. She grew up right here in Terrebonne.” He set the folder on the bedside table and sat on the unmade bed, one hand smoothing the wrinkles she’d left. “Her parents still live here—George and Lois Teague—”

  “No wonder Carrie looks like your wife. She’s a distant cousin. Her mother and mine, I think—we didn’t really socialize much.” Natalie felt strange just standing in the open doorway, so she closed the door behind her and crossed to the chair by the bed. She paused before sitting, silently requesting permission. She took his slight nod as an invitation and dropped into the chair, her wobbly knees grateful for the respite.

  J.D. glanced toward the file folder he’d laid by the bed. “What did you think?”

  “I think those murders definitely seem to be connected.”

  “And your sister’s murder?”

  “Body position was similar. She fits the profile. But—”

  “But you already have a suspect—your brother-in-law.”

  She knew everyone in town thought she was crazy. Or jealous of her sister’s marriage. Or both. But Hamilton Gray was not the grieving widower he portrayed. He didn’t even try hard to pretend with Natalie, as if he enjoyed toying with her, making her seem a fool in front of her family and colleagues.

  “Have you ever known, in your gut, that you were right? Even if everybody else in the world said otherwise?” she asked.

  “That’s exactly how I feel right now. I know in my gut that the same guy who murdered my wife also murdered your sister.”

  “Then I guess we’ll just have to disagree. Because I know Hamilton killed Carrie. He may not have done it with his own hands, but he was involved.” Natalie leveled her gaze with his, making sure he understood her meaning. “Nothing’s going to stop me from proving it. Not the sheriff, not Hamilton—”

  “Not me?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he added, “You called the police on me yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” No point in pretending she hadn’t.

  “Because you thought I was doing something illegal? Or because you wanted me away from the crime scene?”

  “You were doing something illegal—”

  “And you broke into my motel room. Let’s call it even.”

  She sighed. “It’s going to be hard enough for me to keep investigating my sister’s murder under the radar without having to deal with you dogging my every move. I don’t need that. So if you’re going to play follow the leader with me—”

  “I didn’t follow you to the restaurant last night.”

  “Nevertheless, there you were. In my way.”

  “What were you going to do there?” he asked.

  “Look around. See if we missed something.”

  He leaned forward, the movement bringing his muscular torso that much closer to where she sat. She caught a stronger whiff of the masculine scent that had haunted her earlier while she was searching the room. “Maybe we should work together.”

  It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Together? On the investigation?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not a cop.”

  “At the moment, you’re not really, either. And I know these murder cases better than anyone else.”

  “You’re assuming they’re connected. I don’t assume anything of the sort.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’ll investigate your way, I’ll investigate mine. I’ll watch your back. You watch mine.”

  She frowned at him, hating herself for finding the suggestion even the smallest bit tempting.

  His voice deepened to a velvety growl. “We want the same thing, Natalie. You want to stop the man who killed your sister. I do, too. I don’t think it matters that we don’t agree who he is. Maybe that’s a good thing. It’ll keep us honest.”

  He was making sense. She didn’t want him to make sense. She wanted him to go away and leave her to investigate in peace.

  But he clearly didn’t intend to go away. So why not agree to work with him? She could make him think they were partners while she investigated around him. At least she wouldn’t have to conduct her investigation while checking over her shoulder all the time to see if he was there.

  “You’re right,” she said aloud. “We do want the same thing. So let’s do it. Let’s work together on this case.”

  His eyes narrowed a fraction, as if he found her capitulation a little too easy. She schooled her features, determined to appear transparent.

  “Okay,” he said finally, leaning back again, taking away that spicy, tempting scent that had damn near mesmerized her for the last few minutes.

  She resisted the urge to lean toward h
im for another whiff, extending her hand toward him instead. “Okay.”

  His fingers engulfed her, his grip firm but gentle. A tingling warmth in her palm caught her by surprise, making her feel like a teenager with her first crush, giddy and light-headed.

  It passed quickly and she released his hand, scooting her chair back to put more distance between them. “I should go—”

  “What are you doing tonight?” J.D. asked.

  She looked up at him, quelling a sudden nervous ripple in her belly. Was he going to ask her out to dinner or something? “I don’t know—I mean—” She stuttered to a stop, her cheeks burning. For God’s sake, Becker, get a hold of yourself. “I don’t have any plans. Why?”

  His face creased with a slow smile. “Because we have some investigating to do.”

  Chapter Five

  “This is investigating?” Natalie’s voice sharpened with impatience. Her half profile was taut with irritation.

  J.D. saw all the symptoms. She was where he’d been years ago, raw with fresh grief and driven to action to take his mind off the pain and the senselessness of it all.

  But action wasn’t always the answer.

  “Just wait.”

  “Your Zen master act is annoying. And cryptic. Why don’t you just tell me why you wanted to come back here in the middle of the night?” She gazed at the darkened facade of Annabelle’s. The rising moon shed pale light over the building’s whitewashed clapboard siding, making it glow faintly in the dark. The dashboard clock read seven thirty-five, hardly the middle of the night.

  “Your sister’s time of death was clocked somewhere between 7:00 p.m. and midnight, when you found her body.” He glanced at her. “What were you doing here at midnight?”

  Her brow furrowed. “How do you know her time of death?” she countered suspiciously.

  “My brother, the sheriff’s deputy, requested the report.” J.D. had called Aaron this morning after the meeting with Marlon Dyson ended fruitlessly. Aaron had called J.D. back with the details before he reached the motel.

  He could see the moment his strategy dawned on her. “You’re trying to re-create the situation, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Have you ever sat here since the murder to see what goes on out here this time of night?”

  He saw dismay in her eyes, as if she realized the idea should have occurred to her without his help. “No. But I should have.”

  “You’re a little distracted by your emotions.”

  She bristled. “And you’re not?”

  “Constantly,” he replied. “I’ve just had twelve years of practice keeping them in check.”

  She settled back against the seat, looking ashamed for snapping at him. Silence wrapped around them like a cocoon until J.D. thought the tension would smother him. When he spoke, it sounded like a cannon going off, even though he kept his voice even and low. “Do you have someone to talk to—”

  Before she could answer, a sharp crack of gunfire split the air outside the Lexus. J.D. flinched, dropping lower in the car for cover. On instinct, he reached out and dragged Natalie down with him.

  When the sound didn’t repeat, he chanced a quick look over the dashboard and spotted movement in the woods.

  “It’s a hunter.” Natalie’s breath warmed his cheek. When he turned to look at her, her face was inches from his.

  His heart knocked wildly against his sternum. “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure. That sounded like a rifle.”

  “Isn’t it off season?”

  “If it’s who I think it is, he’s hunting for wild pigs. No closed season, although I’ve warned Rudy that he can’t hunt at night. But he doesn’t like chasing the hogs during the heat of the day during the summer.”

  “Rudy?”

  “Rudy Lawler. These woods butt up against his land.”

  “Then we need to find him.”

  “Why?”

  J.D. reached for the car door handle. “Because if he’s hunting here tonight, he might have been hunting here the night of Carrie’s murder.”

  BEHIND NATALIE, J. D. Cooper moved in near silence, threading his way through the trees and underbrush with the skill of a professional tracker. She made a mental note to ask him where he learned the Deer Stalker act, but right now, she didn’t want to make any more noise than she already was. She’d never been a Girl Scout; her parents hadn’t seen the need for such pedestrian pursuits for their girls.

  Piano lessons and charm school had been their lot. Carrie had taken to both with the enthusiasm of a born princess. Natalie had found the lessons tedious and unfulfilling.

  “There.” J.D.’s voice wasn’t even a whisper. It was a mere breath on the back of her neck, stirring the tendrils of hair that straggled loose from her ponytail. She struggled to control the shiver that fluttered down her spine in response, focusing instead on the dark woods ahead. She spotted a flash of orange, barely visible in the gloom, a split second before the underbrush exploded with noise and movement.

  J.D. dragged her with him a few feet to the right as an enormous black boar burst into sight, squealing and grunting as he churned past them. Rudy Lawler scrambled into sight behind the feral pig, raising his gun to take aim.

  “Don’t shoot!” Natalie and J.D. cried out in unison. Natalie waved her arms, trying to catch the hunter’s attention.

  Rudy pulled up short, jerking his rifle to one side. He stared at them for a moment before turning tail and taking off at a dead run.

  Beside her, J.D. muttered a profanity and took chase.

  Natalie struggled to keep up. “Rudy, we’re not going to cite you! Stop running!”

  Rudy kept going, his familiarity with the lay of the land giving him a definite advantage. But J. D. Cooper was faster than a man his size had any right to be. It took him less than a minute to catch up with Rudy and haul him halfway off his feet.

  Natalie caught up, her breath burning in her lungs. “Damn it, Rudy. I said I wasn’t going to cite you!”

  “Let me down, you big gorilla!” Rudy struggled against J.D.’s firm grip.

  “Put him down,” Natalie said.

  J.D. settled Rudy on his feet, keeping a grip on the man’s jacket collar to keep him from running again.

  “It ain’t officially sunset yet,” Rudy said defensively.

  “I don’t give a damn if you hunt until dawn,” Natalie growled, flicking on her flashlight and shining it in his face. “We just need to talk to you.”

  “Were you hunting here the night of May 19?” J.D. asked.

  Rudy peered at him. “Who are you?”

  “J. D. Cooper. He’s consulting with me on my sister’s murder case.” Natalie ignored J.D.’s quick glance her way. “Were you here the night Carrie was murdered?”

  “Maybe,” Rudy said carefully. “I like to go walkin’.”

  “Did you go anywhere near the restaurant?”

  Rudy’s eyes narrowed. “Am I a suspect or somethin’?”

  Natalie glanced at J.D.

  “No,” J.D. said. “But we’re hoping you might be a witness.”

  Rudy seemed to be gauging what he could say without getting into trouble. “Didn’t see nobody, but I might’ve heard somebody.”

  “What did you hear?” J.D. asked.

  “Voices. Men’s voices. Two of ’em. One was kind of low, the other a little higher pitched.”

  Two voices. Natalie looked at J.D. He returned her gaze, his eyes glittering with excitement. Was he right about who killed Carrie after all? “Did you recognize either of them?” she pressed, not certain what answer she wanted to hear. She’d been so certain Hamilton was behind her sister’s murder, but how much of that certainty was based on her sheer dislike of the man?

  Maybe she just needed to believe the worst of him.

  “I couldn’t make them out enough for that,” Rudy replied. His posture relaxed a little as he seemed to realize she really wasn’t going to give him a ticket for after-hours hunting. “I didn’t want to get too cl
ose—your sister didn’t like me much. Said my huntin’ would scare off the customers.”

  “Are you sure it was two voices?” J.D. pressed.

  “Yes, two voices.” Rudy’s gaze flicked back and forth between them. “This ain’t about huntin’ pigs at night, is it?”

  “Why didn’t you tell the police about this already?” J.D. asked, unable to hide a hint of irritation in his voice.

  Rudy bristled defensively. “I didn’t reckon it meant much of anything. Might not have had a thing to do with what happened to Miss Carrie, and I don’t go botherin’ the police about just anything, you know. They’re busy folks.”

  “What you mean is, you didn’t want them to know you were hunting at night when it’s against the law.”

  Natalie caught J.D.’s arm, giving it a warning squeeze. “It’s really more a guideline than a law,” she said lightly. She looked at Rudy. “Rudy, here’s what I want you to do, okay? Promise me you’ll do this.”

  Rudy scowled. “I ain’t promisin’ anything until I hear what you want me to do.”

  “Go to the police in the morning. Deputy Doyle Massey is the investigator on my sister’s murder case. Tell Deputy Massey that you remembered something from the night of the murder. I don’t care what reason you give for being out here—tell him you were walking your dogs or something. But tell him what you heard.”

  “Why can’t you tell him?”

  “Because I’m not supposed to be anywhere around the case.”

  “’Cause it was your sister?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I don’t think what I heard’s gonna help the case any.”

  “Maybe it won’t,” Natalie conceded. “But it’s context, and that’s important to an investigation.”

  Rudy released a little huff of breath. “All right. I’ll do it for you, Miss Natalie, ’cause you’ve always been real nice to me, and that ain’t true of all the folks around here.”

  “Thank you.” She realized she was still holding J.D.’s arm, so tightly that her fingers were beginning to tingle. She let go and shot a quick look at him. He stared back at her, an odd expression on his face.