Shadow of Perception (16 page)

He set the washcloth on the counter, then began to help her stand. “Shh, not now. Let’s get you out of these clothes and into bed.”

“Where have I heard that line before?” she asked with a grin, then stopped him. “I’m fine. Really. Besides, I have to get to the station. My show airs Sunday. If I don’t go today, and Rusty has to help me over the weekend, I’ll have to buy him a dozen donuts for the rest of my life.”

“Make him work the weekend or give him the flu. Tough choice,” he said as he forced her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Which do you think he’d prefer?”

Too weak to argue, she let him remove her heels. If she weren’t sick, she’d have been completely turned on right now. Watching this sexy, badass man cup her foot with his big hands made her temperature rise. The flu bug didn’t help, either.
   

Knowing he was right, and too exhausted to change her clothes, she lay back on the mattress and closed her eyes. “You’re right. I’ll just doze off for a few hours, then see how I feel. If I owe Rusty a lifetime’s worth of donuts…”
 

He smoothed the hair away from her face. “Don’t worry about Rusty,” he said, and pulled the comforter over her. “Remember the blonde who was here with John Kain the other night? She’s his fiancé and, according to Rachel, is about to open up a bakery. Maybe she’ll extend the CORE discount to you. Anyway, get some rest.”

When the door clicked shut, she opened her eyes. “Damn it,” she mumbled.
 

Time to quit avoiding the truth.

*

Michael Morrison clutched the varmint rifle and dropped to his knees. When the wave of nausea passed, he stood and looked at the mess the coyotes had made of Dr. Brian Westly.
 

When he’d checked on what the animals had done to his first patient, Michael had just emerged from the farmhouse after a two day drinking binge. The coyotes had left next to nothing of Dr. Thomas Elliot. Apparently the beasts had discovered a taste for humans, though. Westly had only been in the wooded field for about eight hours, and the animals had wasted no time stripping the flesh, muscle and bone from the doctor’s body.
 

As he stared at Westly’s remains, a warm tear slid down his cold cheek and a sob tore through him. Why hadn’t they listened?
 

“Look what you’ve made me do,” he accused the dismembered corpse. The coyotes had torn the skin from the man’s face, and even without the chains and hooks drawing his cheeks back, Westly grinned at him.
 

The eerie, toothless smile infuriated him. If they’d only listened, none of this would have happened. Eliza might still be alive. His precious baby would have been twenty-five next week. She’d been robbed of her life. Her future. As he stared at what remained of Westly, he imagined those milestone moments he’d never experience. Eliza’s college graduation, her wedding day, his grandchildren.
 

Raw fury climbed inside and fueled him with uncontrollable rage. “Why didn’t you just listen?”

He smashed the butt of the rifle against Westly’s head. Over and over until the skull split into pieces and gray matter covered his rifle and gloves. Panting, he looked to the gun, then to what was left of the head. Horrified at the sight, horrified by what he’d become, he stumbled back, tripped and fell on his ass.
 

Stunned, he glanced to the ground, then scrambled to his feet. Bits of flesh and sinew clung to the dead man’s femur. And he’d tripped over it. Disgusted with Westly, with all of them, and himself, he raced back to the barn. To his OR.

He rushed inside and headed straight for the office. Ripping the filthy gloves from his hands, he stared at the wall, at his daughter’s last letter to him.
 

Tears blurred his vision. A sob tore through him and he reached for the bottle of whiskey on the desk.
 

Empty.

“Fuck,” he shouted and threw the bottle against the wall. Made of plastic, it rebounded off the metal and bounced onto the cement floor. “Damn it.” He kicked the bottle as tears streamed down his cheeks.
 

Exhausted after no sleep, emotionally and physically drained, he dropped to the floor and wept. “What have I done?” he sobbed. “What have I done?”

Gravel churned along the driveway leading to the house. Michael jumped to his feet and peered out the window. “Not now.” He stripped out of the Carhart coat, then ran to the bathroom to wash his hands and make sure Westly’s remains weren’t splattered on his face. After scrubbing his hands and face, and blowing his nose, he ran back to the office. As he was about to leave, he glanced at Eliza’s letter.
 

Make them pay, Daddy.

“I am, sweetie,” he murmured, and fighting the tears clouding his eyes, he drew in a deep breath, then left the barn.
 

“There you are,” neighboring farmer, Larry Hollister said as he rounded the front of his old Ford pick-up truck. “I just tried the front door. How’ve you been?”

Michael shook the other man’s hand. “Good. Real good. Just working on the tractor I’d bought at the auction this past summer.”

“How’s it coming? Need any help? The wife says if I don’t get outta the house she’s gonna put me to work. And I don’t do women’s work,” Larry finished with a chuckle.

Michael mustered a smile. “I know what you mean,” he said, then motioned him toward the house and away from the barn. “I’ve got to head out in a few hours, but if you have time for coffee…” He hoped Larry declined. Exhausted and emotionally raw, he wasn’t in the mood for company.

“Not allowed unless it’s decaf. And what’s the point of that?”

“Right.” He stopped at Larry’s Ford. “So, what brings you by?”

“Couple of things. I heard Joe Decker is looking for a temporary place for his horses. You got a lot of land they could run on, and he’ll pay you for the use. And don’t worry, Joe don’t expect you to feed ‘em or nothing. He said he’d come by daily and take care of things.”

No way in hell.
The last thing Michael needed was horse and people traffic on his property. He’d stick with the coyotes for now. They served a purpose.

“Sorry, Larry. I’m not interested. Why doesn’t he try Ruth Gardener’s place?”

Larry grinned. “Cuz that woman’s a bit…crazy,” he answered, and to emphasize, circled his index finger around the side of his head.

Michael laughed. “Yeah, I guess she is a little eccentric. Anyway, what else do you have for me?”

Larry moved toward the driver’s side of the truck, then opened the door. “You know Sal Cooper? Lives about a mile down the road.”

“Yeah, we met at the auction when I bought the tractor. He’s the one that had recommended I buy it.”

“Mmm,” Larry grunted. “He knows tractors. Any who, Ol’ Coop tends to be a bit bat shit crazy, too. He and Ruthy oughta get together, if you catch my meaning.”

Michael nodded and wished Larry would shut up and leave. Considering he’d been up all night dealing with his…patient, he had to catch some sleep before his shift started at St. Mary’s Medical Center. He faced a ninety minute commute, and couldn’t risk falling asleep at the wheel. While he hadn’t had anything to drink since he’d begun Westly’s surgery, he couldn’t afford a run-in with the police or highway patrol. He was only halfway finished with his death wish list, after all.
   

“So,” Larry continued. “Coop was telling me he’s been havin’ some coyote problems.”

Maintaining his perfected poker face, Michael shrugged. “Tis the season.”

“No kidding. Only Coop says these scavengers have been bad. Real bad.”

“How do you mean?”

Larry climbed into the truck, turned the ignition, then rolled down the window. “I guess those nasty fuckers went after his dogs. He’s got these little prissy mutts that he spent a fortune on for his ex-wife, got stuck with ‘em after they split…any who, ripped one of ‘em to shreds.”

“How’s this unusual? I’ve heard about coyotes going after livestock before, why not a dog?”

“I hear ya. Only, when Coop went out to stop ‘em, those damned coyotes circled
him
. Thank Christ he had his rifle with him. Otherwise…” He trailed off with a shrug. “If those coyotes start giving you a hard time, call the sheriff. If enough of us do, maybe they’ll send out the animal warden to kill ‘em.”

Maintaining his poker face, Michael nodded his head. “Absolutely. I’ve been thinking about getting a dog,” he lied. “But maybe I’ll reconsider…”

“Might wanna. Alright, Mick, I’ll let you get back at it. If you change your mind over the next few days about them horses, let me know.”

Michael gave the Ford a light rap. “Will do. Sorry I can’t help with Joe’s horses, but thanks for thinking of me.”

Larry waved as he backed the Ford down the driveway. When he’d turned onto the county road, Michael released a deep breath.
 

“Fucking coyotes,” he muttered. He’d have to feed them sooner than he’d planned, otherwise they might cause a problem for him.
 

*

“Is Eden Risk available?” Pudge asked WBDJ-TV’s pretty receptionist, Carla.

“Your name?”

“Murugan Punjab,” Pudge said, quite pleased with the new identity and that Carla had been fooled by the disguise. Experimenting with other cultures had been fun. But actually deceiving people who knew the real Pudge? An extreme necessity for their plans to come to fruition.

“Do you have an appointment, Mr. Punjab?”

 
“No, but I had a story idea for her,” Pudge said with a well-practiced Indian accent. “She’s proven to be such an excellent investigative reporter…” Pudge trailed, and hoped the compliments helped gain entry into the station as Murugan Punjab. While Eden knew Pudge in another capacity, being able to talk with her as a stranger, and watch her at work in her office, might help them gain a better understanding of her schedule and this new man in her life. Did she have a picture of him on her desk? Dates scribbled on her calendar? Before they could make a move, they needed to make certain no one would be there to save her.

“Well,” Carla began as she looked at the computer screen. “It looks as if Ms. Risk hasn’t come into the station yet today.”
 

Disappointed, Pudge clutched the backpack. After all the effort put into the disguise, of course the bitch didn’t have the decency to show up to work. “That’s too bad. Do you know when she’ll be in?”

“No, I’m sorry I don’t. But, if Ryan Anders is available, I’m sure he’d be happy to talk with you.”

the rumors the rumors all true kill anders kill him

Pudge ignored the voice, and asked, “Is this…Mr. Anders an investigative reporter, too?”

Carla smiled. “Yes. A very good one. Would you like me to check his availability?”

This had to be a joke. The prick from Cleveland had only been working for WBDJ for a month and Jeffries was giving him the opportunity Pudge had never been given. Eden’s job.
 

make him disappear mama taught you how taught you well

Covering up a murder had been the only good thing Pudge had learned from Mama. Well, the only useful thing. But to kill two people from the same TV station? Too risky. They would have to deal with Anders another way.

To maintain the charade, Pudge nodded. “Yes. I would like to meet with this Mr. Anders.”

we must learn more about him we must must

They would, in time. If Anders thought he could waltz into Chicago and steal Pudge’s job…the arrogant bastard had another thing coming.
 

slice of a scalpel slice dice slice dice
   

Carla hung up the phone. “I’m sorry Mr. Punjab. Mr. Anders is also unavailable. If you leave your contact information, he’ll call you at his earliest convenience.”

His
earliest convenience. How nice of him.

Still, Pudge’s latest charade might prove useful when the time was right to rid Chicago of Ryan Anders. As Murugan Punjab, Pudge could escape detection while probing into the new investigative reporter’s life. And if Anders or anyone else suspected Murugan Punjab to be a fake, Pudge could simply flush evidence of the Indian man down the toilet.
 

Pudge wrote down the number of one of the several prepaid, disposable cell phones hidden at the house. After Eden had gone to the cops last month,
caution
had become one of Pudge’s new buzzwords.
 

“Here you go.” Pudge handed the phone number to Carla. “I look forward to hearing from Mr. Anders.”

Backpack in hand, Pudge left the station, then hailed another taxi. Although Pudge didn’t want to go home, it was necessary. Murugan Punjab needed to disappear for a while.
 

After all, Dr. Dread had to make a final appearance.

Chapter 9

Hudson glanced at the clock on the laptop’s screen, scrubbed a hand over his face, then leaned into the sofa. After spending the past hour looking at the driver’s license photos Rachel had sent him to compare to the computer composite she’d created of the first victim, his eyes had grown tired.
 

Needing a break, he turned to the rat dog lying next to him. “Wanna go potty?”