The Search

Simon woke with the sun in his eyes. At home he slept in a cave, shuttering the bedroom windows so he could wake up, get up, whenever the hell he wanted. He considered it, like eating whatever and whenever, a perk of adulthood aided by being self-employed.

Of course, the dog had changed that, demanding to be let out at questionable hours by jumping on the bed, or licking any body part that might hang over the bed. Or his newest, and fairly creepy, method: standing beside the bed and staring at the human.

Still, they’d worked out a routine where he let the dog out, stumbled back into bed and caught some more sleep until Jaws wanted in again.

So where the hell was the dog? And more important, where the hell was Fiona?

Deciding they were undoubtedly together, Simon grabbed a pillow and put it over his face to block the light so he could sleep.

No good, he realized in seconds.

The pillow smelled of her, and her scent drove him crazy. He indulged himself for a moment, just breathing her in while a picture of her formed in his mind. The soft coloring, the sharp features, the long, strong body. The dash of freckles and clear, calm eyes.

He’d thought if he figured out what there was about her he found so damn compelling, he’d get past it, or around it.

But now that he had, at least partially, he found himself only more tangled up. Her strength—mind and body—her resilience, her humor and what seemed an almost bottomless well of patience combined with an innate kindness and an easy, almost careless self-confidence.

He found the mix fascinating.

He shoved the pillow aside and lay there squinting at the light.

Her bedroom, he thought, showed a strong, imaginative use of color. The walls glowed a coppery hue in the sunlight and formed a good backdrop for some decent local art—probably picked up at Syl’s. She’d indulged herself with a big iron bed with hints of dark bronze along with that copper, and high, knobbed posts.

No fuss, he thought. Even the obligatory female bottles and bowls on the dresser had a sense of organization, while the trio of dog beds across the room spoke of her passion and profession.

Attractive lamps, simple in style, an oversized chair draped with a beautifully made throw—likely Syl’s again. A low cabinet holding books—and he’d bet they were shelved alphabetically—photos, trinkets.

No clothes tossed around, no shoes left on the floor, no pocket stuff scattered on the dresser.

How did anyone live like that?

In fact, he noted, the clothes he’d peeled, tugged and yanked off her the night before were nowhere to be seen, and the clothes she’d peeled, tugged and yanked off him sat neatly folded on the chest under the window.

And since he was lying there thinking about how she decorated and organized her bedroom, he obviously wasn’t getting any more sleep.

He used her shower, found it stingy on the pressure and the hot water. Her bathroom, he thought, needed some serious updating. The old fixtures should be replaced, the tile work redone, and the basic layout wasted space.

Despite what he considered a poor design, it was tidy, organized, scrupulously clean.

He dropped his towel on the floor, went out into the bedroom to dress. Walked back into the bath, picked up the towel and slung it over the shower rail.

He dressed, thinking about coffee, then started out of the room. Walked back, snarling a little, and picked up the pillow he’d shoved off his face and onto the floor. Tossed it back onto the bed. Muttered, but pushed his neatly folded clothes into his duffel. Satisfied, he started out again.

“Goddamn it.” Since he couldn’t shrug off the guilt line between his shoulder blades, he backtracked again, yanked the sheets into some semblance of order, then flipped the bold blue comforter up and over—and considered the bed made.

Feeling put-upon, he trudged downstairs and decided there better damn sight be coffee.

It waited for him, hot, fragrant and seductive. Next to a woman, he thought as he sloshed some into a mug, coffee was the best thing a man could consume in the morning.

He drank, topped off the mug, then went to find the woman and his dog.

They were in the sunny side yard fooling around on what he thought of as the playground equipment while the other three dogs sprawled on the grass. He leaned against the porch post, drinking his coffee, watching the woman—her stone gray hoodie zipped against the early morning chill while she walked his dog up a teeter-totter.

It tilted down at his weight when he passed the center, but rather than jump off, as Simon expected, he walked straight down.

“Good!”

Jaws got a treat, a pat before she directed him to the tunnel.

“Go through.” She moved down the outside as he—probably, Simon thought—wound through the inside. He wiggled out the far side.

After his reward, she turned to a platform. Simon watched his dog leap on command, preen at the praise, then trot down the ramp on the other side and straight to the ladder of the slide.

“Hup!”

Without hesitation he climbed up, navigated the slide down.

Amazed, Simon started over as Fiona turned Jaws to a lower platform. At her command, he jumped over it and, at the next, scrambled up a pile of logs.

“Call the circus,” Simon said. At his voice, Jaws broke ranks and charged over.

“Morning.” Fiona gave her dogs the release signal.

“Yeah.” She’d done something to her hair, he noticed. Some kind of braiding deal at the sides that merged into one at the back.

Where the hell did she find time to do that stuff ?

“What are you doing up and out this early and playing recess?”

“I have morning classes, including a one-on-one with a behavioral problem.”

She stepped in to him the way she did, kissed him the way she did—light and easy. He liked light and easy well enough, but . . . He pulled her back in for stronger.

“Off.” She held a hand down to Jaws as he jumped, skimmed the other through Simon’s hair. “Your hair’s still wet. So you found the shower and the coffee.”

“Yeah.” She smelled like spring, he thought, with just a hint of heat. “I’d rather have found you in bed, but I settled.”

“The dogs needed to go out, and since we were up and out, I thought I’d work with Jaws. That was his third round with the obstacle course this morning. He thinks it’s great fun, and he’s picked up several skills. If you want to leave him here today, he can hang with the boys, and I’ll work with him some between classes.”

“Ah . . .”

“Or if you want him with you, you can just drop by later and we’ll work in a session.”

Stupid, Simon thought, that he’d gotten so used to the dog he’d hesitate over the offer of a day without the responsibility of him.

“Keep him if you want. Any special time I should come back for him?”

“Anytime. Play your cards right and you could get that steak dinner out of it since I know you’ll be back. If I’d known you were coming by yesterday . . . Why did you come by yesterday?”

“Maybe I wanted sex.”

“Mission accomplished.”

He grinned at her, ran a finger over one of those fancy braids. “The sex and pizza were a bonus. I had a reason, but I lost it with everything.”

“There was a lot of everything. I’m glad you were here, whatever the reason.”

“It’s in the truck. I’ll get it. Here.” He pushed the empty mug into her hand.

“What’s in the truck?”

“The reason.” Jaws grabbed a stick and bounded along with him. “We’re not going for a ride yet.” To keep his legs from being bashed and poked, he took the stick. “Give.” Then tossed it.

The entire pack of dogs gave merry chase.

Simon lowered the tailgate, climbed in and tossed aside a tarp. He muscled the chair out of the truck.

“Oh my God, is that mine? Is that my chair?” Fiona scrambled over as he hauled it to the porch.

She lit up, he thought, as if he’d given her diamonds. “It’s mine. I’m not sitting on that piece of crap when I’m over here.”

“It’s beautiful. Look at the color! It’s, what, Caribbean Vacation, maybe? It’s fun!”

“It works with the house, the trim.” Though he shrugged, her reaction brought him ridiculous pleasure. “It won’t look half bad around you.”

“It’s so smooth.” She ran a hand along the side arm. The minute he set it on the porch she plopped into it. “Oh, and it’s comfortable.” Laughing, she rocked. “An easy ride. So, does it suit me?”

“Yeah, it suits you.” He picked up the old chair.

“What are you going to do with—Oh, Simon!” She winced when he snapped one of the rungs—which also gave him ridiculous pleasure. “Someone could use it.”

“It’s crap.”

“Yes, but, I should at least recycle so—”

He broke off another rung. “There. Recycled crap into kindling. Or”—he tossed it, and sent the dogs into another mad dash—“dog toy.”

He needed to go, he thought. If he was up this early, he ought to be working.

“When’s your first class?”

“The one-on-one’s first. They ought to be here in about a half hour.”

“I’m going to get more coffee. Is there anything around here that resembles breakfast food?”

“Simon, you don’t have to stay. I’m going to be alone here sometimes.”

“I make you a chair and you can’t spare a bowl of cereal?”

She rose, laid her hands on his cheeks. “I have Froot Loops.”

“That’s not a cereal. Frosted Flakes is a cereal.”

“Out of stock. I do have Eggos.”

“Now you’re talking.”

IT TOOK A few days, but in the middle of her last afternoon class, Fiona spotted the mid-level American-made car easing down her drive—and thought, The feds.

“Keep working on bringing your dogs to heel. Astrid, you’re hesitating and tensing up. You have to show Roofus you’re pack leader.”

She stepped away from the class, turned to walk to the car. Her own tension eased when she saw the driver get out.

He wore a dark suit over a stocky build, and the flecks of gray in his hair had multiplied since the last time she’d seen him.

“Special Agent Tawney.” Fiona held out both hands. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

“Sorry it has to be anybody, but it’s good to see you. My partner, Special Agent Erin Mantz.”

The woman wore a suit as well, trim over a compact build. Her hair fell in a sleek blond tail, leaving her strong, serious face unframed.

“Ms. Bristow.”

“If you could wait? I have about another fifteen minutes to go. And, no offense, but I’d rather not announce to my clients that the FBI’s on the premises.”

“No problem,” Tawney told her. “We’ll have a seat on the porch, watch the show.”

“I’ll wrap it up as soon as I can.”

Mantz stood where she was for a moment. “She looked pretty happy to see you. Not our usual reception.”

“I was with her after she escaped from Perry. She felt comfortable with me, so I was on her during the trial.”

Mantz studied the terrain, the house, the setup from behind dark glasses. “And here you are again.”

“Yeah, here I am again. Perry’s in this, Erin, there’s not a doubt in my mind. And if there’s one person in this world he hasn’t forgotten, it’s Fiona Bristow.”

Mantz watched, cool-eyed, as Fiona supervised owners and dogs. “Is that what you’re going to tell her?”

“Let’s hope I don’t have to.”

He walked to the porch and, a gentleman to the core, sat on the toy chest to leave the rocker for his partner.

“She’s pretty isolated out here,” Mantz began, then reared back, hands out, when Bogart bopped up to say hello. “Stay back. Go away.”

Tawney patted his knee, inviting Bogart over. “Good dog. What’s the problem, Erin?”

“I don’t like dogs.”

They’d only been partners a few months and were still learning each other’s quirks and rhythms. “What’s not to like?”

“Dog breath, shedding, big, sharp teeth.” Bogart’s tail whapped her legs as Tawney rubbed him. Mantz got to her feet, moved out of range.

Peck sauntered up, glanced at Mantz, got the message. He bumped his nose on Tawney’s knee.

“These must be her dogs. You read her file, didn’t you?” he asked Mantz. “They’re S-and-R dogs. She has three. Trains them, too. She started her own unit out here.”

“You sound like a proud daddy.”

He glanced up, cocking his eyebrows at the edge of sarcasm. “I find her a tough, admirable young woman, one who helped us put a monster in a cell by standing up in court, hanging in, even after her fiancé was murdered.”

“Sorry. Sorry. The dogs make me nervous, and being nervous makes me bitchy. I read Greg Norwood’s file, too. He was a good cop. Came off solid. A little old for her, don’t you think?”

“I’d say that was up to them.”

“Proud and protective daddy.”

“Is that you being nervous and bitchy?”

“Just me observing. Jesus, here comes another one.”

She moved over another foot as Newman trotted onto the porch.

By the time Fiona finished class, her three dogs were sprawled happily at Tawney’s feet, and his partner stood rigidly at the far end of the porch.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Did you make friends with the boys?”

“I did. Agent Mantz doesn’t like dogs.”

“Oh, sorry. I’d have kept them off the porch. Why don’t we go inside? They’ll stay out. Stay out,” she repeated, and opened the front door.

“You’re not fenced,” Mantz observed. “Aren’t you worried they’ll run off ?”

“They’re trained not to go past certain boundaries without me. Please, sit down. Why don’t I make some coffee? I’m nervous,” she said before Tawney could respond. “Even though it’s you, even though I was expecting someone and I’m glad it’s you. I’ll make some coffee and settle down.”

“Coffee’d be good.”

“Is it still coffee regular?”

He smiled. “It still is.”

“Agent Mantz?”

“Same for me, thanks.”

“I’ll just be a minute.”

“Nice place,” Mantz commented when she was alone with her partner. “Tidy. Quiet, if you like quiet. I’d go nuts.”

“Deb and I talk about getting a quiet place in the country when we retire.”

Mantz glanced back at him. They hadn’t been partners long, but she knew enough. “You’d go nuts.”

“Yeah. She thinks we could take up birding.”

“Does that mean watching them or shooting them?”

“Watching them. Jesus, Erin, why would I go out and shoot birds?”

“Why would you watch them?”

He sat a moment. “Damned if I know.”

When Fiona came back, she carried three mugs on a tray. “I’ve got these cookies Sylvia baked, which means they’re disguised health food, so I can’t promise anything.”

“How is Sylvia?” Tawney asked.

“She’s great. Her shop’s doing really well, and it keeps her busy. She helps me out here, taking classes if I get called out on a search. She’s huge into organic gardening, heads up a monthly book club, and she’s making noises about starting yoga classes—teaching them, I mean. I’m rambling. Still nervous.”

“You have a nice place here. You’re happy?”

“Yes. I needed to move, the change, and it turned out to be the best thing I could’ve done for myself. I love my work, and I’m good at it. At first, I think it was just escape, immerse myself in something so I’d have a reason to get up in the morning. Then I realized it wasn’t escape, it was finding my place, my purpose.”

“You’re not as easily accessible here, for your business, as you would’ve been in Seattle.”

“No. I started out slow, and small. The Internet and word of mouth helped me grow, and starting the unit, building a reputation. I’m still pretty small, but it’s the right fit for me. And that was all a way to ease me into saying I live in a fairly remote location and spend a lot of time either alone or with people I don’t really know—at least not initially.”

“Do you do any sort of screening before you take on a client?” Mantz asked.

“No. A good chunk of my business comes from referrals. Friends, family, coworkers recommending me. I do offer personal behavior training, but that’s a really small percentage of my business. Most are classes, ranging from about five dogs to a max of twelve per class.”

“How about anyone who’s signed up for your class who gave you trouble? Wasn’t satisfied with the results.”

“It happens sometimes. I usually offer them their money back, because it’s better business. A pissed-off client’s going to trash you to friends, family, coworkers, and that could cost me more than a refund.”

“What do you do when a client hits on you? You’re a young, attractive woman,” Mantz continued. “It’s a pretty sure bet it’s happened.”

She hated it, hated the intrusion into every corner of her private life. All the questions they asked of victims and suspects. She was neither, Fiona reminded herself.

She was something else entirely.

“If a client’s single and I’m interested, I’d consider seeing him outside class.” She spoke briskly, almost carelessly. “It doesn’t happen often. If he’s not single, or I’m just not interested, there are ways to discourage and deny without causing friction.”

Fiona picked up a cookie, then just turned it in her fingers. “Honestly, I can’t imagine anyone I’ve discouraged or who hasn’t been satisfied with my work mailing me a red scarf. It’s cruel.”

“Someone you broke off a relationship with?” Mantz continued. “Angry exes can be cruel.”

“I don’t have any angry exes. That’s not being naive. After I lost Greg, and then my father, I wasn’t interested in dating or relationships. It must’ve been close to two years before I so much as had dinner with somebody who wasn’t a close friend. I haven’t had a serious relationship in a very long time, until recently.”

“You’re involved with someone now?”

“I’m seeing someone, yes.”

“For how long?”

Resentment tightened her belly. “Altogether, a couple months. He lives here, on the island. I’m working with his dog. He’s not connected to this.”

“We’ll need his name, Fiona, just so we can eliminate him.”

Fiona looked at Tawney, sighed. “Simon Doyle. He’s a wood artist. He made the rocker on the porch.”

“Nice chair.”

“The scarf was mailed from Oregon. Simon hasn’t been off the island. Agent Tawney, we all know there are two possibilities. The first is somebody following the news reports of the murders, somebody who read the article that brought me into it, sent me that scarf as a sick joke or for some prurient thrill. If that’s the case, it’s unlikely you’ll ever find out who it was. The second is whoever’s following Perry’s pattern sent it to me as a warning, a tease. If that’s the case, I have to hope you find out who he is and stop him, really soon. Because if you don’t, at some point he’s going to come at me and try to correct Perry’s mistake.”

“You hung tough through everything that happened before. You’re going to need to hang tough again. The scarf mailed to you is the same as those used on the three victims. The same manufacturer, the same style, even the same dye lot.”

“So.” Her skin went cold, numbed under a sheath of ice. “That’s probably not a coincidence.”

“We’ve traced the outlets, and we know this specific scarf, this dye lot, was shipped to those outlets at the end of October of last year for distribution in the Walla Walla area.”

“Near the prison,” she murmured. “Near Perry. Why would he buy them there if he didn’t live or work or have business there? A prison guard.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “An inmate who was released or, or a family member. Or—”

“Fiona, believe me, trust me, we’re covering all possibilities. Agent Mantz and I have interviewed Perry. He claims he doesn’t know anything about these murders—how could he?”

“He’s lying.”

“Yes, he is, but we haven’t been able to shake him. Not yet. We’ve had his cell searched, multiple times, all of his correspondence is being analyzed. We’ve interviewed prison officials and inmates he interacts with. We’re watching his sister and are in the process of identifying, locating and contacting anyone—former inmates, prison personnel, outside contractors and instructors—he may have had contact with since he went in.”

“A long time.” She set the cookie aside. She’d never be able to swallow it now. “Do you think he’s directing this, or at least lit the fuse?”

“At this point, we have no proof—”

“I’m not asking for proof.” She paused to smooth the sharp edge out of her tone. “I’m asking what you think. I trust what you think.”

“If he isn’t directing it or hasn’t incited it, he’d be furious. He’d control the anger, but I’d have seen it.”

She nodded. Yes, he’d have seen it. They knew Perry, she and Tawney. They knew him all too well.

“This was his power, his accomplishment,” Tawney continued. “Having someone else pick up that power, claim new accomplishments while he’s locked up? Insulting, demeaning. But selecting or approving the person to continue for him, he’d find pride and pleasure in that. And that’s what I saw when we talked to him. Under the control, the feigned ignorance, he was proud.”

“Yes.” She nodded, then got to her feet to walk to the window, to comfort herself watching her dogs roam the front yard, the field. “That’s what I think, too. I’ve studied him, too. I needed to. I needed to know the man who wanted to kill me, who killed the man I loved because he failed with me. I read the books, watched the TV specials, dissected all the articles. Then I put them away, put them aside because I needed to stop.

“He never has,” she said, turning back. “Not really, has he? He’s just bided his time. But why didn’t he send this proxy for me first, before I could prepare?”

She shook her head, waved away the question as the answer was right there. “Because I’m the big prize—I’m the main event, the reason. And you need to build up to that. The others? They’re opening acts.”

“That’s a hard way to put it,” Mantz commented.

“It’s a hard way to think of it, but that’s how he sees it. It’s a kind of rematch, isn’t it? Last time, I won. Now he’s going to fix that. Maybe by remote, maybe by proxy, but it’ll clear his record. And the opening acts give him his sick satisfaction with the bonus of making the big prize sweat. He wants my fear. It’s part of his method and a large part of his reward.”

“We can take you in, put you in a safe house, offer you protection.”

“I did that before,” Fiona reminded Tawney, “and he just waited me out. Waited me out, then killed Greg. I can’t put my life on hold again, I can’t give him that. He’s already taken so much.”

“We have more leads this time,” Mantz told her. “He’s not as careful, not as smart as Perry. Sending you the scarf was stupid. It’s taunting. Buying them in multiples, from one area, another mistake. We’ll find him.”

“I believe you will, and I hope it’s soon, before someone else dies. But I can’t hide until you do. That’s not being brave so much as realistic. And I have the advantage here. He has to come to me. He has to come onto the island.”

“Your local police department can’t monitor everyone who gets off the ferry.”

“No, but if he does manage to get this far, he’s not going to come up against a twenty-year-old girl.”

“At the very least you should take more precautions,” Mantz advised. “You should have better locks installed. You should think about an alarm system.”

“I have three of them. I’m not being glib,” she added. “The dogs are always with me, and between the police and my friends, I’m being checked on several times a day. Simon’s staying here at night. I’m actually going away next week for a couple of days with a friend and my stepmother. I have a friend staying here with his dog to watch mine and the house.”

“You mentioned that on your blog.”

She smiled at Tawney. “You read my blog.”

“I keep up with you, Fiona. You said you were taking a quick mental health trip with girlfriends, and intended to relax and pamper yourself.”

“Spa,” Mantz said.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t say where you were going, specifically.”

“No, because everyone and anyone can read a blog. I’ll talk about it after, if it seems interesting. But most of what I write about is dog related. I’m not careless, Agent Tawney.”

“No, you’re not. Still, I’d like the information—where you’ll be, the exact dates, how you’ll get there.”

“Okay.”

When his phone signaled, he held up a finger. “Why don’t you give them to Agent Mantz,” he suggested, and walked out onto the porch to take the call.

“We’re driving up to Snoqualmie Falls next Tuesday,” Fiona told her. “Tranquillity Spa and Resort. We’re coming back Friday.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, it will be. It’s our version of a long weekend, as actual weekends are busiest for all of us. I’m going with Sylvia and a friend. Mai Funaki, our vet.”

Mantz noted down the information, then glanced over as Tawney stepped back in.

“We need to go.”

Fiona got to her feet even as Mantz did. “They found another.”

“No. A twenty-one-year-old woman’s been reported missing. She left her off-campus housing at about six this morning, on foot, on her way to the university’s fitness center. She never got there.”

“Where?” Fiona demanded. “Where was she taken?”

“Medford, Oregon.”

“Just a little closer,” she murmured. “I hope she’s strong. I hope she finds a way.”

“I’m going to stay in touch, Fiona.” Tawney pulled out a card. “You can reach me anytime. My home number’s on the back for you.”

“Thanks.”

She walked out with them, stood with her arms folded over her chest against her thudding heart and the dogs sitting at her feet as they drove away. “Good luck,” she murmured.

Then she went inside to get her gun.