Sleeping With Fear (6 page)

Passionate lovers, if her physical reaction to Ash and her single flash of memory were anything to go by.

As she got ready for Ash to pick her up just before eight, Riley wasn't all that worried about her ability to behave as he would expect her to during the date. That was the easy part, at least for her. She'd always been able to fit herself into any situation, to look and act as though she belonged no matter what was going on inside.

In this case, what was going on inside was more at odds than usual with her composed exterior.

Butterflies.

Big butterflies. With claws.

The entire situation made her profoundly uneasy, because it really wasn't in character for her to get personally involved with anyone in the course of an investigation, far less tumble into bed with a man when she hadn't had time, surely, to judge his character.

"Just tell me he isn't evil, Gordon."

"He's a prosecutor, Riley, in a small Southern beach community. How evil could he be?"

"Oh, man, don't ask that question. The worst serial killers I've ever known operated out of small towns."

"Maybe so, but I doubt Ash is a serial killer. Mind you, I'm not sayin' the man doesn't have a few rough edges. And talk is,
he raised some hell as a kid. But he's respected around here, I know that much."

"The last serial killer I knew was respected. Before everybody found out what was in his basement."

"You been around way too many serial killers, babe."

Probably true, that.

In any case, what Riley had admitted to Gordon was also true. She was scared. Despite the cool and confident exterior she was adept at showing, there was a very large part of her that wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head, hoping to wake and find all this just a nightmare. Or to run back to Quantico, her safe haven.

Not that she could do either, of course.

Nope, not Riley Crane, sensible, rational, trustworthy professional that she was. She'd stay and see it through, finish the job she'd started, soldier on-and all the other clichés. Because it simply wasn't in her nature to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.

No matter how bad things got.

So when the doorbell rang just after seven-thirty, she drew a deep breath and went to greet Ash with a smile and total serenity.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he responded. And wrapped both arms around her, lifting her off her feet to kiss her. Right there in the open doorway, for God and all of Opal Island to see.

So much for privacy. So much for serenity.

Riley suspected that all her bones were melting. She also suspected that she didn't much care.

When he raised his head at last and lowered her back to her feet, Ash said a bit roughly, "I've been wanting to do that all day. Just for the record, you seem to have become a habit with me. I didn't sleep at all last night after you kicked me out."

I kicked you out? Why on
earth
would I do that?

"I didn't kick you out," she murmured, reasonably sure she wouldn't have.

"Maybe not literally, but the result was the same. Instead of spending the night in a warm bed with a warm woman, I ended up alone with whiskey and an old movie. I thought we'd gotten beyond that, Riley."

She took a chance. "Beyond what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. If all I wanted was a dinner companion and an hour of sex afterward, there are willing women in my life a lot less complicated than you are." The statement was utterly matter-of-fact and without conceit.

Hmmm. Wonder which complications he's referring to? Wonder who those other women are? And maybe I'm not a fling?

She didn't know how she felt about that. Hell, she didn't know how she felt about any of this.

Ash went on, "Look, I respect this need of yours for space and time to yourself. I get that, I really do. We both know I'm a prickly bastard and pretty much a loner myself. All I'm saying is the next time you decide you want to sleep alone, a little more warning would be appreciated."

I must have had someplace else I needed to be later last night. Note to self: obviously something last-minute, or else I would have headed Ash off long before bedtime. Wonder what it was? Did I know there was someone in danger? That something bad was going to happen? And if I did…

Why didn't I confide in you about it, lover?

"Sorry. And noted, for future reference," Riley said, wondering when her own arms had wound themselves around his neck. Since they were already there, she didn't bother to remove them. "I missed you too, by the way."

"I'm glad to hear it." He kissed her again, briefly but with just as much intensity. "We could skip dinner."

"Not unless you prefer your women nearly comatose," she said, feeling on safe ground here. "I'm starving."

He laughed. "Then we definitely need to get you fed, and I'm not in the mood to cook tonight. Ready to go?"

Guess that explains my well-stocked kitchen. He's been cooking here.

She didn't know how she felt about that either.

"I'm ready," she said.

F
ive minutes later, they were in his very large, very yellow Hummer heading toward the bridge to the mainland, and Riley had to agree with Gordon's assessment of the highly visible appearance of Ash's highly visible ride. Plus, the very low speed limit on the island allowed people sitting on their porches and decks or strolling the walkways beside the road to not only get a good look at the vehicle but recognize who was riding in it.

People waved. And called out hellos to both her and Ash. He didn't stop the truck at any point, which at least allowed Riley to merely smile and wave in response to those greetings from strangers.

Well, at least there was never anything secretive about the relationship. Points for that, I guess.

But there had been secrets
in
the relationship, obviously, since she hadn't told him the truth about why she'd needed him to leave early the previous night. Unless he
had
known and was lying about that…

Don't borrow trouble, goddammit. He doesn't know you've lost your memory. So he isn't lying. About that, anyway. But something else is going on here. Because apparently you didn't tell him the truth about why you asked him to leave early, and you don't know why you failed to do that.

Then again, perhaps she really had only wanted time to herself, and the fact that something had obviously happened later on had been sheer coincidence.

Nah. She really didn't believe in coincidence.

"You're very quiet," Ash said.

"That scene in the woods today." Riley shrugged, ruefully aware that "shop" talk was what sprang most readily to her mind whenever she needed something to fill the silences or the blanks. "I've seen a lot worse, but…it never gets easier."

"I was hoping I'd never see anything like it again," Ash said. "I got more than my fill of murder scenes in Atlanta."

Which told Riley that he had, clearly, lived and worked in a large city. Most likely, of course, as an attorney of some kind. Interesting that he was here now. Career setback, or a deliberate choice?

"Murder happens everywhere. Unfortunately."

"True enough. But this kind of murder? You seriously think we could have some kind of occult nonsense going on here? A ritual murder?"

"I think that's what it looks like. At first glance."

Ash frowned. "You still have doubts, don't you? Despite what you said today."

Riley hesitated, then spoke slowly, trying to weigh each word and wondering if she was making a huge mistake in confiding anything at all to this man, even if he was her lover.

Maybe
because
he was her lover.

"I think-I know-that true occult rituals, especially those ending in murder or any other kind of actual sacrifice, are very, very rare. Especially the sacrifice part. A lot more rare than some of the media would like people to believe. Rare as in virtually nonexistent."

Ash nodded, frowning. "I remember. The vast majority of occult groups are completely harmless, you said."

So we
have
talked about this. Good. I think.

"Right. Their rites and practices are merely the…trappings of their religious faith. Most such rituals are completely benign, designed to celebrate life and nature."

"But those that aren't benign?"

"Are very rare."

"I get that. And?"

"And involve actual worship of Satan and the belief in magic, the belief that a specific ritual or rituals can cause supernatural forces to grant the wishes or desires of the practitioner. But even those rarely involve physical sacrifice or murder."

"So I gather nobody dies. Usually."

"I'm serious, Ash."

"Okay. So occult rituals, offensive though they may be to the mainstream, are both rare and mostly benign."

"Yeah. What's a lot more common-though still pretty damn rare-is for someone to borrow the trappings, the ceremonies and rituals. To do his own thing within the framework of the occult. He may or may not possess occult beliefs. He may feel that he believes but not fully understand the rituals he's trying to command. Or it may have nothing to do with faith or belief and be simply window dressing. He may stage a murder scene implicating Satanism or other forms of the occult to confuse or mislead an investigation. He may deliberately use what he knows will frighten and panic his neighbors."

"To cover his tracks."

"It's been done before."

"I think I'd believe that before I'd believe in a cult of Satan worshippers conducting a blood sacrifice in the woods a mile from town."

"It does sound unlikely, doesn't it?" Riley brooded. "That bothers me as much as anything, the proximity to people, choosing a place where dogs are allowed to run and often do. Where people walk most every day. How long would anyone expect their supposed secret to stay that way?"

"Not all groups are secretive," Ash noted. "There's one just up the beach from you, as a matter of fact."

Purely from his tone, Riley gathered somewhat hesitantly that this wasn't something he expected her to already know, so she risked asking questions.

"What, a cult? A coven?"

"They aren't calling themselves either, as far as I know. Just a group of like-minded friends renting the Pearson place for the rest of the summer. But they've applied for and been granted permission to build a beach bonfire on Friday night-the full moon-and they've been asking questions, strongly implying they believe there's occult activity in the area, and they've let it be known that they practice an…alternative religion."

"Were they more specific about that? ‘Alternative' covers a lot these days."

"Not that I've heard. So far, anyway. But people are talking, of course, especially given what's been happening this summer."

Jesus, I wish I could remember how much of this we've already discussed.

"Can't stop people talking," she ventured.

He sent her another glance, dark brows lifting. "When the talk is bordering on panic, it's time to try. Or, at least, time to offer them a rational explanation to discuss. I thought we'd agreed about that, Riley."

"Yeah," she said. "I remember."

Except that I don't.

The cold, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach got worse, and it wasn't because she needed food.

"Calls are already coming in," Ash said. "No media yet, but that's probably only because their attention is on all the shit happening in Charleston."

What the hell's happening in Charleston?

Riley scrambled for yet another elusive memory or bit of knowledge and again came up empty. She had absolutely no idea what was going on in the nearest city of any size to Castle.

"Still, I'm bound to be asked for an official statement of some kind soon," he went on. "Especially after today. What do you suggest I say-on the record?"

"That…a murder is being investigated."

"It won't stop the talk."

"No. But I can't offer anything else, Ash, not yet. I need time. Time to get a better grip on what's going on here."

"I don't like the idea of you working alone on this."

"Jake and his people-"

"Are out of their depth. We both know that. Why don't you want to be on the official clock, Riley? Why not call your boss, have him send down some help?"

"The unit's spread really thin right now," Riley answered truthfully. "Besides, Jake said an official FBI presence would stand out around here, and he's right. It may be no secret I'm with the Bureau, but at least I won't be flashing my badge or gun and interrogating people. That makes a difference, Ash; it changes how people respond to even a casual question, much less a pointed one. If I can keep my presence low-key, I'm more likely to find out…something."

"Yes," he said. "That's what I'm afraid of."

It was a Monday evening, but it was also in-season for the beach community and surrounding areas, so the restaurant Ash had chosen on the outskirts of Castle was doing brisk business. The good news, as far as Riley was concerned, was that the majority of that business consisted of summer visitors, most of whom didn't know one another.

Knowledge or memory?

She wasn't sure. Dammit.

In any case, if the restaurant's customers on this night even knew a body had been found only a couple of miles away, it didn't appear to be hampering their enjoyment of the quiet music and excellent seafood.

Riley did, however, catch at least a couple of glances and smiles aimed toward them as she and Ash were seated in a semisecluded back corner booth and left alone with their menus, and she murmured, "Nobody looks too panicked."

"Yet," he said. "But you can bet word of what was found this afternoon is spreading. By morning the summer visitors will be uneasy, some to the point of packing up early. The locals will be worried and demanding answers. More calls to my office, that's for sure. But I don't envy Jake, since he and his people will get the brunt of it."

"Part of the job."

"Probably not what he signed on for, though. Not in Hazard County."

"You either, I guess."

"No," Ash said after a moment. "I didn't sign on for it either."

Riley was looking at her menu but not really studying it. Something else was nagging at her. "Jake said nobody'd been reported missing."

"Yeah. You think who the victim is-or was-might be more important than how he was found?"

"At least
as
important, surely."

"No random sacrificial victim?"

"I'll have to do some research," she said, hedging her bets since she couldn't remember just what Ash knew of her background, "but offhand I can't think of any sort of black-occult ritual centering around the sacrifice of a victim chosen at random or just because he happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. Rituals tend to be very controlled, very specific.
Especially
when they involve anything as extreme as a blood sacrifice."

"So I take it all the urban legends about homeless people disappearing, to be used in satanic rites or as part of a black market for organs, are just that. Urban legends."

It was at least half a question, and Riley nodded in response as she met his intent gaze. "The vast majority of stories like that are about as real as leprechauns. The Bureau conducted an exhaustive investigation years ago, when half the country seemed convinced there were devil worshippers on every corner, and didn't find a shred of evidence to support all the scary claims of ritual human sacrifices during black sabbats."

"Yet there are genuine satanic rites practiced."

"Even genuine satanic rites don't involve murder. You have to get beyond…conventional…Satanism and really out on the fringes to find that sort of thing."

"Seriously? There are fringes beyond Satanism?"

"You'd be surprised." He really did have the most amazing eyes. She hadn't known eyes
came
in such a pale shade of green. Not human eyes, at any rate.

"So
if
we have occult activity here that involved a ritual murder, it isn't likely those responsible are satanists?"

"Some fringe groups call themselves satanists. So it's still possible. Or it's some other group calling themselves something else. Or it's window dressing to hide a murder." Riley sighed. "And then there's rumor, and speculation, and people with their own agendas who keep fanning the flames, who do their best to take a spark of truth and build it into a bonfire of trouble."

"For instance?"

She shook her head. "I once opened my front door to find a young woman who was attempting to raise money for her church. The spiel was that our children were being threatened by devil worshippers and her church needed money to fight this evil army. She was deadly serious about it. It was in a sweet little town where the worst I ever saw happen was egging a few houses at Halloween, and that poor woman was jumping at shadows and imagining that demons straight out of hell were a breath away from grabbing her babies."

"People will believe in the damnedest things."

"Especially if the authority figures in their lives tell them something is real."

"Which is why," Ash said, "I still believe our best bet is to treat all this as a series of bizarre hoaxes."

"Even the murder?"

"You said the killer could be using all the occult trappings just to throw us off the scent."

"I said it was possible. And it is. But until we know who that victim was, we can't know who might have wanted him dead."

"Are you going to suggest that to Jake?"

Riley once again had the vague sense of undercurrents, of some kind of long-simmering tension between Ash and the sheriff, but couldn't bring it into focus enough to even be sure whether it was professional or personal.

Something there, though. Definitely something there. And strong, if she was aware of it even with all her senses out of whack.

Mildly, she said, "I imagine Jake's cop enough to know the basics without needing to be reminded."

Ash returned his gaze to his menu. "Jake's a politician."

"I can't tell him how to do his job, Ash."

"No, I suppose not."

His tension was still there. She could feel it.

Barely.

Where's my clairvoyance when I need it? Hell, where are
any
of my senses?

They were still dulled, blurred, as if she saw and heard and touched and smelled her surroundings through some kind of wispy veil. It felt weird and cold and scary, this sensation of being distanced from the world.

Being unconnected.

She was alone, that much she
could
sense.

Even stranger, her head was hurting again, but not in any way that was familiar to her. Not a dull ache of tension or weariness, nor the rare "hangover" head-in-a-vise agony of having pushed herself way beyond her limits, but sharp little bursts of pain every few seconds, one after the other, in random spots from just above her eyes over the top of her head and back to the nape of her neck.

Riley'd had a tooth go bad once; it was that sort of pain, like a nerve or nerves pulsing.