Master of the Abyss

by the door.

Jake kept his trap shut. Tell a cop that he’d beat the hell out of a local citizen? Nope.

Amusement glinted in Masterson’s eyes.

“A couple more questions, Hunt, and I’ll let you go,” Jackson said. “When Mimi-”

“Chief.” A cop who looked too young to even drive came in. “Sorry, Chief. Appears the only thing we can charge Whipple with is being coked up, and he even admitted that. Seems to think snorting cocaine helps him be more…assertive…with women.” He grimaced in disgust and handed the captain two sets of papers. “Unfortunately he has a strong alibi for one of the murders.”

The chief flipped through one set of papers, and his mouth flattened into a thin line. “Give him a warning-a serious one. And spring him.”

As the cop left, leaving the door open behind him, Chief Jackson told Masterson, “He was best man at a college roommate’s wedding. The family confirmed and faxed photos as well.”

Masterson scowled. “He might have slipped out and done it, then gone back.”

“The wedding happened in New York,” Jackson said in a dry voice.

“Dammit!” Masterson slammed the wall with an open hand. He bowed his head for a second and then straightened. “All right. On to the next one.”

“Hold up a minute.” The chief scanned the other set of papers and frowned. “New information from the sheriff’s department. Says they correlated information from the victim’s families and friends.” The chief pinched the bridge of his nose. “All the victims argued with a boyfriend or husband the day they disappeared. Nasty fights. In public.”

“Wait a minute,” Jake said. “You’re saying the murderer killed them because of a fight? With someone else?”

“Could be. Serial killers exist in a different reality, and they’ll kill for the damnedest reasons.” Chief Jackson tilted his head. “So, Hunt, did you ever fight with Mimi in public?”

“Never.”

“I did.” David Whipple appeared in the doorway. A sheen of sweat coated his pale face. He curled his hand around the door frame, and the knuckles turned white. “In my store. After she and Hunt broke up.” Anger darkened his face, then disappeared as his eyes pooled with tears. “I wanted her back. I even begged.”

Jake felt a moment of sympathy.

“She said no. She said she was moving to San Francisco. I yelled at her.” Whipple wiped his sleeve over his eyes. “I called her a bitch. I never thought-”

“Who else was in the store, David?” Masterson asked softly. “Can you remember?”

Whipple leaned against the door, his balance obviously unsteady. “Yeah. I was embarrassed they’d heard me lose it. There were a couple of loggers. But I know them-they’re gay.”

The chief shook his head. “Probably not them. The victims were sexually violated after death.”

The sickening information hit Jake like a battering ram to the chest. Not Mimi. Masterson’s hand on his shoulder returned him to reality-a worse reality than before.

“Anyone else?” the chief asked Whipple.

“Those were the only men. A female firefighter. Mrs. Anderson. Samantha-she’d have been about ten.” He frowned. “Oh, the soft-drink supplier-Andrew-was in the back, finishing a delivery.”

Andrew Secrist? The air left Jake’s lungs in an explosive gust. Secrist had watched him and Masterson fight. A fight.

He slammed out of the station so hard the door banged off the wall. Thudding footsteps sounded behind him. He skidded to a stop in front of the grocery, and Masterson halted beside him.

Even as fear blasted into Jake, he heard Masterson curse.

Under the dim glow of a streetlight, stacks of soft drinks still sat on the boardwalk. The delivery truck was gone.

Chapter Twelve

Unable to find any appetite, Kallie leaned against a log by her small fire. The low song of the wind in the high pine branches, the crackle of the burning wood, the gurgle of the stream comforted her-and yet increased her loneliness. She remembered other evenings when Jake’s deep laugh had added to the wilderness melodies. Like two nights ago, they’d sat so close together that his shoulder had rubbed against hers as he fed another stick to the campfire. When she’d shivered from cold, he had pulled her closer, warming her with the heat of his body.

She tossed a pinecone into the flames and listened to the snapping sound as the seeds ignited, as all their potential burned to ash. Seemed about right.

Her heart ached like a torn muscle, and she had only herself to blame. Even knowing he wouldn’t stay, she’d still gone ahead. Just like Serena’s favorite chick flicks-the ones where the woman’s friends had warned her and she still headed straight for disaster. Kallie had always wanted to slap the heroine upside the head and tell her not to be a total moron.

Moron, here.

At least she knew when to cut her losses. Even if he got down on his knees and begged, she’d never have anything to do with him again. Not that he’d want her to. All he’d said earlier was, “Kalinda, I’m sorry.” Of course he was. Of course he felt bad for hurting her because, despite being a cowardly asshole, he was wonderful, caring, strong, smart, and…

With a snort of disgust, she wiped her eyes. Could she get any more maudlin? Yes, it hurts. Get over it and move on.

She picked up her whittling knife, pulled her current project out of her pack, and winced as she saw the carved figure of Jake. She should have taken time to find something else.

Well, maybe she’d just whittle a few pieces off him. But the thought gave her a pang. As she worked, the need to concentrate lent her peace. She carefully added the hair that hung over his face and hid his scar. Then an ear.

After she finished, she’d store it away and not look at it until she reached…oh, maybe seventy or so? Maybe someday the memories of how his hand cupped her face, how he’d nestle her against his side, how his rumbling voice sounded when he teased her and called her sprite… Maybe someday she’d manage to think of the past month as a wonderful time, without mourning that she’d not feel his touch or see him.

See him… Oh no no no. She’d have to see him with other women. Even her anger wasn’t enough to overcome the way her stomach twisted with nausea at the thought. Oh hell, how would she ever endure that? What if he asked Gina or Serena out, and she had to hear every tidbit of what he did?

Her knife scraped down. Hard. Too hard, slicing the chin right off the figure. Tears filled her eyes, and wasn’t that stupid? As if she could hurt a wooden man.

As if she could ever hurt Jake.

“To hell with this.” She flung the knife toward her pack. It landed point down in the dirt, the handle quivering. Aching inside, she tossed the wooden man into the fire.

The soft pine burned hot and fast.

Doubting that sleep would help, she pushed to her feet anyway. She hadn’t bothered to bring a tent. No rain in the forecast, and this time of year, the dry forest held few bugs. She tossed her