Blood Dreams

were.'

'But not Becky,' Marc said. 'And not Karen.'

'Shit,' Jordan muttered. And when everyone looked at him, added, 'I guess we are sure Karen's dead too?'

'We're sure there are at least two victims,' Marc confirmed. 'And I'm willing to accept Hollis's word that Becky is one of them, unless and until DNA results contradict her. Karen's our only other missing person, Jordan.'

'Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just really don't want to have to be the one to tell Bob his wife's dead.'

'A friend?' Hollis asked.

'Not a close one, though we went to school together.' He shrugged. 'Small town.'

'With the traditional small-town grapevine?' she wanted to know, shifting the subject. Maybe.

It was Marc who said, 'People around here tend to keep their business to themselves when it comes to outsiders, but that isn't to say that they don't know what's going on around them and talk about it among themselves.'

'But they'll be slow to do anything like alert the media?'

'That's been the rule around here as long as I can remember. At least for most of the locals. But we have a crop of relative newcomers in the area, and I have no idea what their tolerance for media scrutiny would be. Some people do love the spotlight.'

Hollis sighed. 'Ain't that the truth. So we don't have much time before the news breaks.'

'I'd guess not much, no.' Marc shook his head and directed the conversation back a step. 'You said this killer escalated to an unusual degree?'

'Yeah.' Hollis frowned. 'The time gap could explain the intensity of the escalation, at least in part. If he wanted to kill, needed to kill, but couldn't, for whatever reason. Sheer frustration could easily make a killer more savage.'

'Assuming there actually was a time gap.'

She nodded. 'Always possible he's killed somewhere else and we missed the signs.'

'But you don't believe that.'

'No. We believe he's lain low all these weeks, that he didn't kill until he got his hands on Becky Huntley on or after September twenty-second, when she disappeared. Before that… maybe he was searching for a place like Venture. Or maybe he came straight here, because of that connection Dani suggested, and has spent all this time since his arrival getting ready.'

It was Marc's turn to frown. 'He didn't do much advance prep the first time, did he? Grabbed the women usually coming or going from home or work, in areas with little or no security.'

Hollis nodded. 'Yeah, he was like a vicious animal. Grab and run, and lucky enough or smart enough to time every grab perfectly. Never any witnesses, which means we haven't even the vaguest description of him.'

'He could be anyone,' Dani murmured. 'We could walk right past him on the street and never know.'

'Probably,' Hollis agreed. 'If monsters looked the part, they'd be a hell of a lot easier to catch.'

Marc circled once again back to the point, saying, 'But if he did spend all the time between the last murder in Boston and the first one here somehow getting ready, that's new.'

'One of the many potential differences, yes.'

'An important difference?'

'Bishop believes so. And I agree. Think about it. What he risks most in a smaller area with fewer people is discovery. He can't grab and then butcher a dozen victims in a dozen different locations over a short span of time, not in a place like Venture. He might be able to do that once, maybe twice if he's really lucky, but not more than that. He needs a base. Somewhere safe, somewhere isolated, somewhere he can do what he wants to do with little or no fear of discovery.'

Dani stirred and said, 'Like a warehouse. Like the basement of an otherwise deserted warehouse.'

Hollis nodded. 'Like a warehouse. When the universe offers you a signpost, you pay attention.'

'But is that part of the trail we're meant to follow?' Dani's uneasiness grew. 'Or something entirely separate?'

'Actually,' Hollis said in a slow tone of realization, 'it's an even more complicated question. Because Becky didn't say we were supposed to follow the trail. She just said someone was leaving us a trail to follow.'

There was a long silence, and then Dani said, 'And in my dream, we're walking into a trap.'

Before anybody could comment on that, an older deputy tapped on the door and stuck his head in, addressing Marc apologetically.

'Something we thought you ought to know, Sheriff.'

'What?'

'We got a call late last night from a young lady who suspected she was being followed home from work and that somebody had gotten into her locked apartment.'

'Steal anything?'

'No, that's the weird thing. He left something behind. A. necklace. Shorty's looking it over now.'

Marc frowned. 'I take it she's sure it wasn't left by a boyfriend or something like that.'

'She's absolutely positive, Sheriff. She's also shook up and not the sort to get that way without reason. A while ago when she opened her apartment door to leave for work, she found a dozen red roses leaning against her door-with a note that spooked her even more. She called it in, and this time the deputies responding decided you should talk to her.'

Eyeing his deputy, Marc said, 'I take it you were one of those deputies?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You were out at the crime scene yesterday, weren't you Harry?'

'Yes, sir.' With clearly forced calm, Deputy Walker added 'I know Bob Norville, and I know Becky Huntley's parents And I really think you should meet Marie Goode and talk to her. I think maybe she's got reason to be scared.'

* * * *

Gabriel Wolf parked the Jeep well back from the abrupt end of the old dirt access road and got out. He didn't get too close to the edge, just close enough to peer over and note that a spring flood sometime in the past had changed the course of a wide creek and allowed it to wash out a long stretch of the old road.

It was no Grand Canyon but still a long way down to the sluggishly moving creek.

'Well, shit,' he said. 'Have to be close enough, I guess.'

He got his binoculars from a large duffel bag in the backseat and returned warily to the best vantage point he'd been able to find overlooking most of Prophet County, at least without climbing a fucking mountain. This time, he not only kept well back from the unstable edge, but also in the dubious cover of a cluster of trees only now beginning to assume this year's muted fall colors.

He did not want to be seen up here.

He adjusted the focus of the binoculars and swept the distant area first, where the small town of Venture was visible, sprawling more than he had expected. It had once existed as a fairly important stop along the railroad from Atlanta heading north; the line had run through Venture and continued along the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains, transporting cotton, tobacco, pecans, and whatever other crops and goods the state produced, as well as the stone and other minerals quarried farther to the south.

Gabriel studied what he could see of Venture, frowning a little. He'd seen small towns left by the wayside of progress, abandoned when railroads closed down lines and unwise timber harvesting practices left scarred hillsides and crops like cotton and tobacco failed or moved elsewhere, and this particular small town had either recovered from such economic hits long ago or else had never experienced them.

And yet… trains no longer even paused here, slowing a little as they passed Venture only because the line then wended its way into the mountains, where speed could be deadly. As far as Gabriel could see, there were no major industries in the area, barring one lone paper mill up on the river miles outside town.

Several tidy farms boasted dairy cows, some beef cattle, and other small livestock, and he'd noted at least three other farms where horses and riders were from all appearances trained in show jumping and cross-country