Don't Look Back (6 page)

“Sam,” she hollered. “I’m leaving.”

“Hey, I’ll take you.”

“I’ve walked before, I can walk now.”

Incredulous eyes stared back at her. “Are you crazy?”

“No. Determined. This guy is not going to ruin my life again . . . if it’s even him.”

“That’s fine. I understand that, but you still have to take precautions.”

Just the thought of walking out of her front door made her want to hurl. And that made the rage rise once again. She would not give up the progress she’d made, would not succumb to the fear again. Would it be caving to accept the help Samantha so willingly offered?

Everything within her wanted to stomp defiantly out the door. Instead, reason overruled her momentary desire for a temper tantrum. If he was the one doing this to her, she certainly didn’t want to fall back into his sadistic hands.

“All right,” she said. “For now.”

Relief at Jamie’s easy capitulation flashed over Sam’s features, and Jamie felt a twinge of guilt at her own stubbornness. But stubborn could be a good thing.

It was one reason she was still alive.

Fifteen minutes later, she walked into the lab. Her home away from home. Samantha had dropped her at the door, then drove on to the high school to meet Jenna. While school was finished for the year and Jenna had graduated, Sam had volunteered to go with the group of seniors to the lake for the day.

Desperate to put last night out of her head, Jamie pulled at the shirtsleeves that came nearly mid-palm, then went straight to the bones she’d started working with the day before.

Then thought about the two old files on her desk. She really needed to look over them. A glance back at the bones she needed to sort through. They were clean and ready for placement on the large metal table.

Yesterday, she hadn’t been able to tell much from the bones themselves due to the dirt and other debris still attached to them. Chemicals had remedied that problem. Now, she could begin the road to giving this person a name. The files could wait. Once she had her report on these two sets of bones, she could compare them to the other ones that had been found in the same area.

Ignoring her craving for a cup of coffee, she pulled the femur from the box. Placing it on the slab, she went for the next bone, then the next. Finally, she had the skeleton laid out, each piece placed precisely so. Taking the digital camera from the cabinet above the sink, she took picture after picture of the bones.

And something caught her eye.

Setting the camera aside, she leaned in and took the arm bone, the radius, in hand. Turning it from side to side, she saw that it had been broken once upon a time. It had healed nicely. Replacing it, she moved to the other arm. The left radius had also been broken. And healed well.

Her stomach flipped as she slowly lowered the bone back into place. She picked up the ulna, turned it. And paused. An epiphyseal line almost fused to the growth cap. The femur told the same story. As a teen aged, the epiphyseal line changed, fused and became an epiphyseal plate. The line indicated this person had never had the chance to advance in age past the late teen years.

She moved to the clavicle, almost afraid to look.

“Hey, Jamie, what’s up?”

She jumped and nearly dropped the bone. “Honestly, Dakota, could you whistle or something to let me know you’re coming?”

A sheepish smile crossed his face as he shoved the Stetson to the back of his head. “Sorry.”

Her heart stuttered for a moment as she stared at him and the feeling confused her. Why was she so attracted to him? She didn’t like men – in general – and certainly didn’t want to feel anything remotely like attraction for one of them. Not even one she considered a friend.

The knock on the door brought her attention around.

A young man in his late thirties stepped inside. Jamie offered him a short smile. “Hi, George.”

“Hi, Jamie. What are you working on?”

“Some bones that were dug up yesterday.” She turned to Dakota. “This is George Horton, the department profiler. He joined the team a little after I accepted the job here. So far he’s been a great asset from what I hear.”

George grinned, flashing a one-sided dimple and white teeth. “Thanks for the praise, Jamie. Dakota and I’ve met a couple of times.”

Dakota nodded and shook the man’s hand. “Good to see you again.”

“So, did you need something?” Jamie asked him.

“Naw, I was just passing by and thought I’d pop in to say hello. Maybe we can do lunch one day.”

With a vague smile, Jamie offered, “Maybe.”

Not likely, she thought. As nice as George seemed to be . . .

He left and Dakota looked at her. She tried to sidestep his stare but finally asked, “What?”

“You know what,” he teased with a tight smile. “He likes you.”

She grimaced and kept her tone neutral. “I like him too. He’s a nice guy.”

“So are you going to have lunch with him?”

Just the thought made her shudder. “No.” She tried to cover her initial distaste at the thought of anything even resembling a date. “He’s one of
those
.”

“Those?” Confusion chased the bemusement from his face.

“Yes, a psychiatrist, a
profiler
of all things. You can’t trust them. They’re way too thoughtful and analyze everything you say. It would be like having lunch with a mind reader or something.” She was teasing yet serious about not being interested in George. “No thanks.”

Something resembling relief flickered briefly across Dakota’s eyes but was gone so fast she wondered if she imagined it.

Then he grinned. “Then will you have lunch with me?”

She smiled back. “No.” At his crestfallen expression and wounded stare, she laughed and said, “I don’t eat lunch at nine-thirty in the morning. Ask me again in a couple of hours.”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “You got me.”

Her heart did that crazy beat-skipping thing again and she turned back to the comfort of her bones. “Yeah.”

“So, what have you got on the bones?”

“Female and young.”

“How old was she?”

“I’m not sure. Late teens, probably. Eighteen, nineteen. There’s only a few teeth so I don’t think our odontologist is going to be able to help us out.” She sighed. “Give me a little longer and I might be able to tell you more at lunch.”

He nodded. “All right, I’m going to go catch up with George, the mind reader. I have a couple of questions for him anyway. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Absorbed in her work, she didn’t even turn as he left.

An hour later, she stretched out the kinks in her back and decided she needed something to drink. Walking into the small office attached to the side of the lab, she went straight to the small college dorm refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.

Taking a sip, she let her eyes roam over the familiar space.

And prickles raised the hair on the back of her neck.

Something was off.

Slowly, she took inventory of the area. Everything seemed to be in place, but . . .

What was different?

Her desk. The plant sat where it always did. But it was turned. She kept the words on the pot facing her. “I can do all things through Christ.” Maybe one of the cleaning crew had moved it. Reaching out, she straightened it.

Then stopped. A coldness seeped into her.

The red pen she kept at the top of her desk calendar now lay to the right side.

And the point of the pen stuck out, ready to be used.

She always closed it.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to rationalize it. Okay, so someone had been in her office – and rearranged things a bit. That didn’t mean anything.

Did it?

Of course not, she tried to reassure herself. The cleaning crew had just . . . bumped her desk, moved things around a bit.

Only the cleaning crew had never done such a thing before.

A knowing feeling coursed through her and she was certain whoever had been in her office was the same person who’d been in her house.

Him.

Against her will, tremors pushed their way to the surface and she felt that sick, nauseating feeling return. Her right hand slipped under the collar of her shirt and moved to her left shoulder. Tracing the rough edges of the scar that was a permanent reminder of a time she desperately wished she could erase from her memory, she stepped closer to her desk.

Her eyes fell to the calendar and she gasped, her fingers falling from the scar on her shoulder to reach around and grasp her elbow. Her left hand came up to cup her right elbow and she bent double, hugging herself, trying to keep control of the scream bubbling up from within.

“Hey, Jamie . . .”

The scream released and she whirled, one hand flying up to cover her mouth to keep another scream from escaping.

“Jamie! What’s wrong?” Crossing to her side, he reached out to grab her and she flinched, backing away from him. He dropped his hands and soothed his voice, controlling the desire to smash the person who’d done this to her. “Come on, Jamie, talk to me. You’re safe. You’re fine. What’s wrong?”

He kept up the chatter, not even sure what he was saying after a few minutes, but whatever it was, it seemed to be working, pulling her from her frozen state of terror.

Her right hand cupped her left shoulder, gripped it so hard, her knuckles turned white. Finally the shaking eased, her hand dropped and she looked him in the eye.

The torment in her beautiful gaze nearly brought him to his knees.

He held out a hand and whispered, “Jamie . . .”

She hesitated, then took it. Slowly, ever so slowly, Dakota pulled her to him and held her in a loose embrace. Tight enough to offer comfort, loose enough that she could slip out of it if she desired to do so.

She said something and he missed it.

“What?” He leaned in closer to listen. Her two words chilled him to the depths of his soul.

“He’s back.”

6

Jamie pulled away from the comfort of Dakota’s arms, almost more shocked by the fact that she let him hold her than the fact that she thought her tormentor had returned.

“I . . . I have to go.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Home. I want to go home.” But her safe haven had been breached.

“Let me call someone. Samantha.”

“No,” the word shot out of her mouth. “No, I don’t want to bother her. She’s at the lake with Jenna.”

“Then – ”

“Hey, is everything all right in here? We thought we heard a scream.”

They turned at the voice in the doorway, and Jamie flushed, knowing she must look like a scattered mess.

George and morgue security officer Stephanie Hilton looked on with concern. The woman stood with her hand on her gun. George looked like he wished he had one.

“Sorry, George, Stephanie, I just . . .” She hauled in a deep breath, trying to think of what to say when Dakota jumped in.

“She’s fine. I just need to learn to whistle when I come up behind her.”

Jamie forced a smile and busied herself with the papers on her desk, hoping George and Stephanie would take the hint and leave.

“Gotcha. Well,” an uncertain expression crossed George’s handsome features, “I’m just down the hall if you need anything.” “Thank you, George.” She appreciated his kindness but wanted him gone. Now.

They left and she wilted against her desk.

“Don’t touch anything else.”

She froze. “Why?”

“You said, ‘He’s back.’”

Jamie swallowed hard. “I did?”

“Yeah. Who is he? And why is he after you?”

She ignored his question and said the only thing that she could focus on. “He circled the three.” The words felt like they came from someone else, but she couldn’t peel her eyes from the desk calendar.

“Huh?”

“The three. He circled it.”

Dakota moved around her desk to stand next to her. His shoulder brushed hers, but she didn’t move. His breath brushed her cheek and she inhaled.

And didn’t move.

She felt safe in his presence.

The three on her calendar still mocked her with its glaring red circle around it; however, she felt herself calming, the terror ebbing slightly.

Because of Dakota.

“What does it mean?”

His question rocked her. “It means . . .” She closed her eyes and let the fear go, pushed it as far from her mind as she could, used every coping technique she’d been taught and some she’d made up. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “It means he’s telling me he’s not forgotten me.”

“What is the significance of the number three, Jamie?” he asked softly.

“I think it means I was his third victim.”

He flinched. “How would you know whether you were his third or eighth or whatever?”

“Because of this.” She pushed the neck of her top down to expose the fleshy part of the top of her shoulder.

Dakota paled and swallowed hard. His finger reached out to trace the raised flesh. “He branded you?”