She patted his arm before she left. “Stop beating yourself up, Deputy. Moon Flower will be her usual sanguine self tomorrow. Poof.” She spread her fingers in a starburst. “Worry bubble popped.”

  Rolling a cramp from her shoulder, she left Beth to badger him out of his funk. After washing up and snagging a Diet Coke from the fridge, she wandered into the backyard. Ella trotted dutifully behind her. The moment Sera settled on a rock, the dog flopped down to bask in the waning rays of sunlight.

  The Big Horns rose clear and craggy in the distance, and for the first time all day, a breeze fluttered across Sera’s cheeks.

  Normal, she thought and smiled at the concept that somehow always eluded her.

  The B movie of her childhood began to play in her head. Sparkles everywhere. Puff up the hair, strut, smile, own the stage, work the room. Don’t smudge the makeup, flash the spray tan. Watch out for strap lines.

  She paused there, her gaze on a fluffy white cloud. A man’s arm appeared, but there was no khaki sleeve and no chrome watch. There was only a mark, a tan line where a watch should have been.

  The image came and went in a heartbeat. Was it important, she wondered, or was she grasping at memory straws that meant nothing in the grand scheme?

  Reclining on her elbows, she tried to empty her mind. Logan snuck in, but she was used to that and worked around him.

  She brought back the smells, mildew and mothballs, and the sound—Bob Marley on Andi’s computer—the arm, the sleeve, the watch, the grimace…

  With the soda bottle poised at her mouth, she zeroed in on the last thing and saw it again. Gloved hands reaching, teeth clenched and bared.

  They weren’t particularly white teeth, and the lower front ones were crooked.

  “Okay…” She drew the word out. “That’s a good sign.” A second later, her instincts kicked in, and a smile flitted across her lips. “Oh, yeah, really good.”

  At her side, Ella rolled over, blissfully unconcerned.

  Sera counted down from five. As a shadow fell over her, she gripped the knife she’d taken from the kitchen and brought it around Bulley style so the tip touched the underside of a man’s chin.

  “Well, hey there, Chief,” she greeted. Then using the tip to draw him forward, she set her mouth on his.

  SERA KNEW LOGAN was up to something when he suggested they eat at Frank’s Diner. He wasn’t paying her back for the dinner he owed her, and, although he might be disarming her from across the table, she wasn’t foolish enough to read this as a romantic whim on his part. Still, if he wanted to bide his time, she could play along.

  While Tim McGraw spun on the jukebox, she indicated a man at the bar. “I recognize him from the other night.”

  “That’s Travis. He’s Abe’s foreman.”

  “The guy he’s talking to, the one with the curly brown hair and leathery skin, looks familiar, too. Probably from the clinic. And there’s good old Wayne, the biker with the dirty laundry. No chance he’s the Blindfold Killer, huh?”

  “He’s not Hugh Paxton if that’s what you mean.”

  Something in Logan’s tone brought her gaze to his shadowed face. “Isn’t one the same as the other?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh good, now you’re going all mysterious on me. Please say you’re not thinking that someone’s copying the killer’s MO.”

  “If someone is, he’s copying details that weren’t released to the media.”

  “For example?”

  “The particular way the bandanna’s folded. The fact that the Blindfold Killer always makes sure his victim’s eyes are open and they’re found lying face up.”

  “Why do I sense puzzlement?”

  “Unlike the previous eleven, three of the four recent victims, Sig and his partner not included, had their wrists bound with red tape.”

  “That’s very interesting.” She drew a circle inside a square on the table. “I assume the one not bound was Andi. Because I interrupted him?”

  “Possibly.”

  “You’re being mysterious again, Chief. Any chance of an explanation?”

  “Yeah. When I have one that works.” He looked at the door. “Do you recognize those men who just came in?”

  She had to squint through a sea of brawny bodies. “No, should I?”

  “They’re two of the new workers Abe took on right after Sig was killed.”

  “And?”

  “They have alibis. One by his wife, the other by a maid and a motel clerk in Buffalo. People lie, though. It never hurts to double-check. Third guy on Abe’s list ditched the site before I could talk to him.”

  “Does that say ‘bad guy’ to a cop?”

  “It says question mark. The description I got was of an average-looking, forty-something male, several inches above average height.”

  Propping her elbows on the table, Sera pressed on her temples. “I think my head hurts.” But she slid her eyes to the man standing next to Travis. “Maybe he’s the one who’s supposed to come back for a tetanus shot.”

  “Don’t count on him keeping the appointment if he is.”

  Logan’s expression made her laugh. “That’s so cool. You went green at the thought. Tells me where your Achilles heel is—should I ever need to find it.”

  “You won’t.”

  As Tim segued to Steve Earle, Sera’s amusement faded. “You didn’t bring me here so we could guess our way to the Blindfold Killer’s identity, Logan. I sense an ulterior motive, and whatever it is, I sense much more strongly that I’m not going to like it.”

  “You’re a perceptive woman.” Sitting back, he rested a forearm on the table. “Okay, here’s the deal. I know a guy. His name’s Hollis. I met him in L.A., somewhere between Vice and Homicide. He was quirky, but he got results, and that’s all the department cared about.”

  “What kind of results and how quirky?”

  Trapping her fingers, he rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. “Hollis lives in a trailer near a town called Starlight.”

  “Sounds pretty.”

  “Depends on your definition.”

  “Okay, not so pretty. Why?”

  “Am I telling you about him?”

  “Oh, no, I’m way past that. You want me to meet him. What I want to know is why, and—going out on a limb here, Chief—how it is you think he can help me smash through the wall in my head. Please say he’s not a psychic.”

  “First six letters are right. He’s a psychiatrist.”

  She stared in genuine surprise. “But you hate them—us.”

  “Having a problem with something or someone doesn’t equal hate. Hollis is a friend first and foremost. I was on my way to see him two years ago when I stopped in Blue Ridge.”

  An intriguing statement. However… “Logan, if I thought a psychiatrist could help me, I know half a hundred reputable ones in California. What I really need is a mind reader. Or maybe another whack on the head.”

  He took a drink of the beer a harried Nadine plopped down at his elbow. “Hollis is a shrink, but his strong suit is hypnotism.”

  “Whoa.” In a knee-jerk reaction, Sera jumped back in her chair. “Forget it. I mean, I have nothing against hypnotherapy. It has its place, and I’ve seen several cases where it’s worked.”

  “But?”

  “My mind, my memory, my call.” Five tense seconds ticked by before she offered a grudging, “What kind of results does he get, percentage-wise, I mean?”

  Grinning slightly, Logan captured her chin. “What you really want to know is why he lives in a trailer in the back of beyond.”

  “Well, duh, Chief, wouldn’t you? I’m picturing Brother Love here.”

  “You think I’d ask you to turn your mind over to a man who sells potions out of a fifth wheel?”

  Although her blood was heating up, she didn’t pull free. “We called them POHs in college. Professors of Hypnotology. Shysters who staged sideshow seminars to hoodwink gullible audience members into purchasing their expensive DVD collections. No, I don’t think you’d take me to someone like that, but come on, Logan, a trailer in the woods? That’s not quirky—that’s weird.”

  “He graduated top of his class from Harvard.”

  “Even more weird.”

  “Rumor has it he’s worked with politicians and royals.”

  “So having achieved such lofty goals, it makes perfect sense he’d go all mountain man and withdraw from the world.”

  “You’re scared of being hypnotized, aren’t you?”

  “No—yes. Maybe.” She tried not to hiss. “It’s that control thing I told you about. I don’t like relinquishing it, even to a Harvard grad.” But her resistance wavered as her curiosity deepened. “Is it far to Starlight?”

  “Four-hour drive. We can be there by midnight.”

  She flicked a disbelieving finger. “Midnight—as in you want to do this tonight?”

  He drew her closer until all she could see were his unfathomable eyes. “I want this to end, Sera. Now. Before your luck and mine run out. In one form or another, the Blindfold Killer’s here in Blue Ridge, and he’s losing what little patience he might have had.”

  Fear rose like bile in Sera’s throat, but she held his gaze and refused to let it win. “Something’s happened,” she said. “Tell me, Logan, before the freak-out I’m having in my head spreads to the rest of my body.”

  He stared a moment longer, then reached into his shirt pocket and removed a folded paper. “I found this taped to the house after the excitement died down last night.”

  She didn’t want to see it, really didn’t want to know. But she made herself take the paper and read the killer’s chilling words.

  Those who cannot see

  never will again.

  When fools rush in,

  sometimes the angel they meet

  is armed.

  I am the Angel of Vengeance,

  Sera Hudson.

  And you are DEAD!!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Logan didn’t speak, just ran a contemplative finger under his lower lip and glanced at her from time to time as they drove north.

  He knew when to leave someone alone. Before he’d resigned from the force, his captain and several other well-meaning superiors had pushed, prodded and finally ordered him to talk. Instead, he’d retreated into full stony silence. Two weeks later he’d packed up his truck and started driving.

  Although he still wasn’t sure how he’d wound up in Blue Ridge, living here for two plus years had worked for him. Then Sig had called, and the fabric of his new life had begun to shred.

  He didn’t want to care about Sera or any woman. Regardless of where you started, caring invariably led you to despair. But that was only the first stop on the road. Final destination? Hotel California every time.

  They’d been off the interstate for thirty minutes before she shot him a vexed look. “You know, Logan, it’s possible I didn’t have a clear view of the murderer’s face. It was dark, it was raining, Andi and I were alone in the office. We had our desk lights and computers on but not much else.”

  His lips curved. “You remember scratches on a chrome watch, Sera. You could see well enough.”

  She plucked a pine needle from the leg of her capris. Designer label, he reminded himself. Like the snug white halter top she wore and the green jacket she carried.

  “I feel like there’s something else, something connected to that watch.” She fanned her fingers across the windshield. “I know it’s out there in the vast universe that’s my memory. I’m just not sure if this particular thing’s blocked or simply eluding me.”

  “Is this thing more recent than your friend’s death?”

  “Feels like it.”

  He sent her a considering look. “It’s possible you’ve seen the Blindfold Killer in Blue Ridge, and what your conscious mind didn’t recognize, your subconscious one did.”

  She grinned for the first time since getting in his truck. “My how you’ve changed, Dr. Jung. Much hotter this time around. Definitely more persuasive.”

  “Sera, Hollis isn’t going to make you cluck like a chicken every time you hear a bell.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  He knew better than to chuckle. “This is a good idea. Why are you fighting so hard?”

  “Well, hmm, let me think. Maybe because it’s me?”

  His lips quirked. “Yeah, I’ve heard doctors make crappy patients.”

  “Given a choice, Logan, which would you prefer, a tetanus shot or turning your mind over to a stranger?”

  “Stranger hands down.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I hate needles.”

  “Fine, you get hypnotized, I’ll take the shot.”

  He continued to check his amusement. “Are you always so difficult in circumstances like this?”

  “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been in circumstances like this. You could at least let me test out my whack-on-the-head idea first.”

  “You already have.” He turned off the rutted road onto a strip of dirt hardly wider than a cow path. “Barroom brawl, Sera. You wound up in the backseat of a truck stolen from Edgar Bulley’s farm. Remember?”

  She sighed. “At least you let me pack an overnight bag.” She drew a vague air sketch. “Tell me, do you know why one of the side windows in Edgar Bulley’s truck has Lamont Cranston as The Shadow painted on it?”

  Frowning, Logan glanced over. “There’s no Lamont Cranston in Edgar’s truck, Sera.”

  “No? Huh. Well, whoever it was it looked like my childhood recollection of Lamont.” She let her hand drop. “My uncle Geoffrey has a collection of old Shadow tapes.”

  “Sera, there’s nothing painted anywhere on Edgar’s truck. The body itself is more than half rust.”

  “Look, I know I saw…” She trailed off, reconsidered. “Maybe not a drawing.” Her eyes came up. “Maybe a tattoo. On the Blindfold Killer’s—” her fingers danced from side to side “—left shoulder. His shirt was torn, or coming apart at the seam.”

  “Are we talking about the night he murdered your friend, or the night he carried you out of the bar?”

  She ran both scenarios. “I’m going to speculate that the truck memory is transference. When I think Shadow, I see a khaki coat.” Clearly frustrated, she huffed out a breath. “Maybe this hypnotism thing’s not a bad idea after all. Just please don’t let him take me into my childhood.”

  A dark brow went up. “Afraid of what you might find, Doc?”

  “More afraid of what I might say.”

  “So you’d rather die than risk an unconnected revelation.”

  Before she could respond, a lopsided trailer came into view. Around them the trees and towering boulders gave way to a tiny mountain clearing. But her gaze wasn’t fixed on the trailer. Instead, she watched an enormous bearded man walk slowly toward them. He had an ax in one hand and a burlap bag in the other.

  “There’s a sight you don’t see every day,” she managed. “Grizzly Adams on steroids.”

  “That’s not Grizzly Adams.” Logan shoved the door of his truck open. “And it’s not Hollis either.”

  “I SWEAR, MICHAEL Logan, you were born suspicious.” A man with a long gray beard and features much finer than those of the hulk outside smiled benignly as he handed Sera a cup of tea. “Drink up, Doctor.” He winked. “It’s my own special blend.”

  “Black tea and bats’ wings?” she countered with a twinkle.

  He chuckled. “Chamomile and rose hips actually. For tranquility and trust. Although,” he glanced at Logan, “I think you brought your own trust with you. If it sets your mind at ease, I’ll tell you that man outside was gathering mushrooms for soup. He insists they taste best if they’re collected at night. Never mind about the ax. Moving on, Logan informs me you’re having a problem accessing a certain pivotal memory. I hope it won’t shake your confidence if I tell you I’ve had that same problem on a near-daily basis since becoming an octogenarian.”

  Sera regarded him in amazement. “You’re eighty years old? I would never have guessed that.”

  “Which could be a compliment or not, as I recently celebrated my eighty-seventh birthday. Thank you again for the satellite phone, Logan.” His blue eyes sparkled. “The boy worries.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “To business, then.” He removed a watch from his shirt pocket, noted Sera’s reaction and chuckled again. “Simply checking the time, Doctor. I’m something of a night owl. I do my best work in the wee hours. Used to drive the police and my colleagues crazy.”

  He had a very soothing voice. Coupled with the serenity of his manner and the comforting sight of the half million books he had crammed in his trailer, Sera imagined he would have little trouble taking a person under.

  Pushing aside a strand of gray hair, he tapped the multifaceted crystal earring that dangled from his left lobe.

  “Focus on the center, Sera. A crystal is a maze of planes and angles, but the mind is far more complex. What can’t be accessed from one direction must be approached from another.

  Sera knew she could resist, and for a moment she almost did. But if she never remembered that horrible night, Andi and Sig’s killer would remain at large, free to murder again.

  Taking a deep breath, she focused on the crystal.

  As if drawn by a magnet, her mind moved toward the glittering center. She saw faces reflected in the facets—Logan’s, Fred’s, Jenny-Lynn’s, a cluster of Bulleys’.

  She heard the roar of a motorcycle, the same sound as last night. Dirty Laundry Wayne rode an old Kawasaki. He had an attitude and the word “nasty” stamped on every feature. But Logan said he wasn’t Hugh Paxton, and she believed him. She might even…

  No, stop. Not going there.

  Switching directions, she let her mind tiptoe through a welter of memories, some nice, some not. When the mist surrounding them cleared, she was in her office.

  It was dark, after hours. She’d had a difficult day. The police wanted an evaluation done on one of their own. She’d have to squeeze that in. And an Oakland social worker named Jody Frost wanted to talk to her.

 

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