Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

I’m kicking myself for not noticing more details about the truck or the driver. All I recall is that it was an older white pickup truck. Possibly a Dodge. I think it had big tires because it was quite a bit taller than the Explorer. I couldn’t swear to any of it.

Way to go, Kate.

It takes another half an hour for Peck’s Wrecker Service to arrive on scene. “Pecker” is a colorful guy who wears a cowboy hat and boots, and has me laughing despite the circumstances as he goes about attaching the wench to the undercarriage.

I’m standing on the road’s shoulder, trying not to look as shaken as I feel, when Tomasetti rolls up in the Tahoe, turns on his flashers, and parks behind the cruiser. He exchanges a few words with the deputy who’s taking photographs of the scene and then starts toward me, his gaze intent, his expression grim. “I let you out of my sight for more than a few hours and look what happens.”

“I wish I could say you should see the other guy, but he got away.”

I see restraint in his expression. The sharp edge of concern cutting through a thin layer of irritation. I remind myself he was on the phone with me when it happened. He tried to hide it but when I finally called him back he was frantic with worry. He was pissed off and scared, two emotions he did not want to feel. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he wants to touch me, run his hands over me to make sure I’m not hurt. But that need is tempered by the urge to bitch me out for poking around where I shouldn’t have been poking around.

He settles for a light brushing of his fingertips against my cheek. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure.”

He frowns, yet softens at the same time. “You’re bruised. Maybe you ought to get yourself checked out in the ER.”

The knot on my left temple is just starting to make itself known. Probably from my head knocking against the driver’s-side window. “Seriously, I’m fine,” I tell him.

He doesn’t look convinced, but walks away to take a good long look at the Explorer. “What happened?”

I tell him everything. “It was no accident, Tomasetti. And it wasn’t random. That son of a bitch came out of nowhere. He came at me fast and hard, hit me twice.”

“You tell the deputy that?”

I nod. “I didn’t tell him who I suspect.”

His expression goes dark. He glances over at the deputy, who’s still photographing the scene, and lowers his voice. “Kate, do you think a cop did this? Someone with the Geauga County Sheriff’s Department?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“You get a look at him?”

“No. Damn it.” I sigh. “But I’m telling you this was no accident. Whoever was driving that truck purposefully tried to run me off the road.”

“To accomplish what exactly?”

I shoot him an are-you-serious look. “I’ve been sniffing around, asking questions. Maybe he caught wind of it. Maybe he got nervous and decided to do something about it.”

“So he tried to kill you by running you off the road?”

“Or shut me up.” I think about Kelly Dennison. “Intimidation is part of it. That’s his modus operandi.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looks over my head at the wrecked Explorer, sitting cockeyed behind the wrecker. “I’m sure he has no idea how hard your head is,” he mutters.

Shaken as I am—or maybe because of it—I laugh. “You always manage to say just the right thing.”

“I don’t like it that you’re on his radar.”

“Neither do I. Nothing I can do about it.”

“Yeah, well, I can.”

I look at him, wait.

“It’s time I got involved, Kate. Make this official. Start an investigation.”

“You said we don’t have enough. That we should wait until we have something significant.”

A small shrug. “We’ll see.”

But I know Tomasetti too well to think he won’t get it done.

The emergency lights of the wrecker flicker off the fa?ade of the church across the street. We watch as the driver pulls the Explorer onto the road.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” I tell him.

“If you want to make it right, you could sit the rest of this out. At least until BCI can get a fingerhold on this thing.”

“There’s not much more I can do,” I tell him.

He nods, his expression softening. “You want a ride home, Chief?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”





CHAPTER 25

I dream of Joseph King, a disjointed collage of memories tinged with nightmare imagery. We’re in the woods and we’re running from someone or something. The sense of danger is keen and I’m terrified. I can hear our pursuer behind us, breaking through brush, deadfall cracking, branches waving as it crashes through the forest. Joseph and I have reached the limits of our endurance. We can’t run any farther. But I know the cliffs are up ahead. Somehow I know we’ll find shelter and safety in one of the caves.

“Keep running,” I tell him. “Come on! If it catches us, it’ll tear us to shreds!”

“You go on, Katie. I’m spent.”

That’s when I notice the blood streaming from a gaping hole in his chest, streaming down to soak his trousers. “You’re bleeding!” Panic laces my voice because I know the thing pursuing us will smell the blood.

“Run!” I scream.

Joseph smiles, that familiar twisting of lips that’s mischievous, knowing, and kind. But there’s blood on his teeth. Blood in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks like tears.

“They think I killed her,” he tells me.

I catch a glimpse of something dark moving through the brush. Coming toward us. So large I feel the ground shudder beneath my feet. “It’s coming!” I tell him. “Run! Run!”

“Already here,” he says.

The beast reaches us unseen, and yet it’s there right in front of me. I see Joseph yanked from his feet. The spray of blood against the foliage. The creek running red with it.

Joseph.

I turn and run, leaving him, guilty but too terrified to stay. I run as fast as I can. Arms pumping. Feet pounding. Horror ripping through me with every thrust of my heart. I sense the beast behind me. I feel its claws scrape my back. The sound of fabric ripping, and then I’m being pulled backward into space …

I wake in a cold sweat, my breaths rushing in and out, the smell of blood in my nostrils. I sit up, look around. On the nightstand next to the bed, my cell phone is vibrating.

I snatch it up. “Burkholder.”

“If you want to talk about that street file, take a drive up to my place.”

Even in my befuddled state I recognize Sidney Tucker’s voice. “Tell me what you know,” I say.

“Not over the phone. If you’re interested, come on.”

“Mr. Tucker, if—”

The line goes dead.

“Shit.”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, set my feet on the floor, take a moment to settle my nerves. It’s not yet fully light outside, but Tomasetti’s already gone. The window is open and I can hear rain falling. The rumble of thunder in the distance makes me think of the beast in my dream.

*