Native Cowboy Page 13

  “Good morning,” he murmured, because having her in his bed and arms made his heart pound with happiness.

  “Good morning to you.” She blushed again as she glanced down at her naked belly, and he gently kissed her cheek.

  “I felt him kick,” he murmured.

  She laughed softly. “He’s very active in the morning. I think he might be a soccer player.”

  If he was, he would be there to watch his games.

  “Does it hurt when he kicks?”

  An expression akin to awe flickered in her eyes. “No, not really. It...reminds me he’s alive, that he’s a real little man just waiting to come out.”

  Her tenderly spoken words were so full of love that his heart squeezed. Then her gaze met his, her nipples stiffening as his hand brushed over her heavy breasts, and hunger surged inside him.

  He dipped his head and claimed her mouth again, kissing her with all the pent-up hunger he’d lived with since he’d walked out of her life. She kissed him back, her tongue dancing with his, her hands urging him closer.

  He wanted to take her there, to have all of her, to promise her that he wouldn’t leave her this time.

  But how could he do that?

  He was a lawman. His job took him across the state, to dangerous places, and forced him to deal with the worst of the worst.

  He couldn’t expose his son to that kind of danger.

  Tension warred with his need for her, and he ordered himself to stop. But his heart and his raging body needed her, and he refused to listen to rational thought.

  She moved against him and he cupped her breasts, then lowered his mouth to trace his tongue over one turgid point. She moaned and clung to him, threading her hands into his hair.

  He laved one breast, then the other, then suckled one nipple into his mouth. Her leg wound through his, one hand sliding down to cup his backside. His muscles clenched with arousal, his sex throbbing and seeking out her warm center.

  But his cell phone jangled, a reminder that he was in the middle of a multiple homicide case.

  He wanted to ignore the phone, stall answering that call. Finish what he and Cara had begun.

  But his son kicked again, and he couldn’t not answer it.

  Cara and his baby’s life depended on him doing his job.

  So he gently kissed her again, then reached for his phone. “Detective Blackpaw.”

  “Detective, it’s Reverend Parch.”

  Mason frowned. “Reverend?”

  “Yes...” His voice sounded odd. Troubled. “You need to come out to my church.”

  Had the reverend decided to spill what he knew? “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a cemetery behind our church. This morning when I arrived, a new grave had been dug.”

  Mason reached for his shirt. “I take it you didn’t have a funeral there yesterday?”

  “No,” Reverend Parch said. “This one just turned up. And it’s different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The grave is covered in stones.”

  Mason cursed. The killer had struck again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Something was wrong. When Mason ended the call, he grabbed his jeans and yanked them on, and she reached for her robe.

  Disappointment flitted through Cara—she missed the intimacy they had just shared. “What is it?”

  “Reverend Parch found a new grave behind the church this morning.”

  Anger and grief suffused Cara. “Let me get dressed. I’m going with you.”

  Mason gave a clipped nod and fastened his belt. “I’ll make coffee.”

  “I only have decaf,” she said. “I had to give up caffeine during the pregnancy.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen while she hurried to the bathroom, washed her face and ran a brush through her hair. She threw on slacks and a maternity blouse, then brushed her teeth. Her eyes looked puffy, so she dusted her face with powder, then headed to the kitchen.

  Mason was sipping coffee and handed her a cup. He also had made toast and insisted she eat a slice before they left. Ten minutes later, they were in the car driving toward the church. Mason had brought the bag of evidence the killer had left in her room the night before with him to send to the lab.

  Early morning traffic thickened as they entered town, the parking lot of the diner full with the breakfast crowd.

  “I phoned Sheriff McRae and Special Agent Whitehead and told them to meet us there,” he said. “And I asked Brody to post someone to watch your cabin. If the killer sticks with his pattern, he’ll leave another amulet at your place.”

  Cara shivered at the thought. But if he did show up, maybe Brody’s security guard would catch him in the act. “The other burial sites were more deserted areas. It was risky for him to bring the body into town and bury her behind the church.”

  “Yeah,” Mason said, anger lacing his tone. “It’s like he’s throwing this kill in our faces.” Mason quirked his head to the side in thought. “He saw the press conference and it ticked him off.”

  Cara considered the possibility. “You’re right. He’s taunting us. He wants us to know he’s smarter than we gave him credit for.”

  “But he doesn’t know we’re on to him.” Mason pulled into the parking lot and came to a stop. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Cara?”

  She made a sarcastic sound. “No, but I have to do it. I can’t let him hurt any more of my patients.”

  * * *

  MASON BRACED HIMSELF as he and Cara headed to the front of the church. Cara’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the number, then sighed.

  “I need to take this.” She connected the call, and he went to greet the sheriff who pulled up behind them. Agent Whitehead arrived on his heels. They discussed the situation for a moment, the mood somber.

  Cara joined them. “One of my patients is in labor. I need to go as soon as we’re finished here.”

  Mason nodded, and they entered the building. Reverend Parch greeted them at the door, his expression troubled. “The grave is out back.”

  “You’re the one who found it?” Mason asked.

  “Yes. I always stroll through the cemetery early in the morning,” Reverend Parch said, earning a questioning look from Cara and making the agent’s eyebrows raise.

  “Sounds morbid,” Mason commented.

  The reverend shrugged. “Not at all. I find it peaceful.”

  “Just show us the grave,” Sheriff McRae said in a tone indicating he was less concerned about the preacher’s rituals than the fact that another murder had been committed in his town.

  Reverend Parch led them through a side door to the cemetery, the morning sun glinting off the headstones. Mason immediately spotted the grave.

  It was set apart from the others, the stones marking the fresh mound of dirt.

  Cara donned latex gloves while he did the same. Just as before, he took photographs of the stones and their arrangement.

  Then he knelt and used a tool from his kit to dig away the dirt. The sheriff helped while Cara and Agent Whitehead watched.

  Mason swallowed back revulsion as the young woman’s terrified eyes appeared. Then he glanced at Cara. “Was she one of your patients?”

  Cara bit down on her lip. “Yes, her name is Angelica

  Mansfield.” She knelt and touched the young woman’s face with her hand. “But I don’t understand. Angel didn’t give her baby up for adoption. She had a miscarriage last month.” Her teary eyes met Mason’s. “She was devastated over the loss.”

  Mason’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he blames her for losing the child?”

  “Or maybe he’s escalating and spiraling out of control,” Agent Whitehead said. “That means he’ll make a mistake and we’ll catch him.”

  Cara stood, her emotions raging. “The question is—how many women have to die first?”

  * * *

  “DOES SHE HAVE FAMILY to notify?” Mason asked.

  “A sister, but she lives in Georgia.” Cara rubbed
her forehead. “I hate to think how that poor woman is going to feel knowing her sister was brutalized like this.”

  “I’ll take care of notifications,” Sheriff McRae offered.

  “What about the baby’s father?” Agent Whitehead asked.

  Cara shook her head. “He was separated from his wife at the time and they’d planned to marry. But when Angel lost the baby he went back to his wife.”

  Mason muttered an oath beneath his breath. “We need the autopsy to verify cause of death and compare the wounds to the other victims.” He turned to the preacher. “Reverend Parch, did you see anyone out here this morning?”

  He wrapped his hand around the Bible. “No. I’m afraid not.”

  Mason folded his arms across his chest. “So you just stumbled on the grave?”

  “I told you that I found it during my morning meditation.”

  “You were alone?”

  “Yes.” The man stroked the edge of the Bible. “Whoever buried her probably did so during the night.”

  “What time did you arrive?” Agent Whitehead asked.

  “About six a.m. I like to get here early in case some of my parishioners stop by to talk before they go to work.”

  Mason gave him a skeptical look. Granted they had pegged Morningside as their main suspect, but there was still something fishy about the reverend. Something fake in his eyes.

  Secrets.

  “Do you know a man named Lapu Morningside?” Mason asked.

  Reverend Parch cut his eyes toward the book in his hand. “He has visited our church.”

  “Did you give him counsel?” Cara asked.

  The reverend slanted her a cold look. “You know I can’t divulge that any more than you could.”

  Mason wondered what else he hid behind his religious jargon and the good book.

  “If you’re covering up a criminal act or if you know where Morningside is and you’re not telling us, then I’ll arrest you for harboring a criminal and as an accessory to murder.”

  “Those charges would never stick,” Reverend Parch said matter-of-factly.

  Agent Whitehead’s phone buzzed, and she stepped aside to answer it.

  Sheriff McRae cleared his throat. “If Reverend Parch knows something regarding the murder and doesn’t report it, he’ll have to live with his own conscience.”

  Mason gestured toward the grave. “Are you going to hide behind your Bible and allow another woman to die?”

  For a brief second, pain and grief flickered across the

  reverend’s face. “No. I pray that you find the lost soul who’s hurting these women, Detective.”

  Agent Whitehead returned, her body tense. “We have a lead on Morningside.”

  Adrenaline surged through Mason. “Then we need to go.” He glanced at Cara. “Cara?”

  “I have to deliver a baby.”

  Mason didn’t want to leave her alone for a second. “It’s not safe for you at the clinic.”

  “I’m not shutting down my practice, Mason. My patient is in labor.”

  “I’ll send my deputy over to watch the place,” Sheriff McRae offered.

  An uneasy feeling nagged at Mason. A vision of Cara lying in bed this morning, naked, her body pressed into his, sent a surge of protective instincts through him.

  More than anything he wanted to catch this killer. And Cara wouldn’t be safe until he did.

  “A caller claims he saw Morningside at a gas station between here and San Antonio,” Agent Whitehead cut in. “It sounds like he’s on the run.”

  Mason shifted. If Morningside was out of town, Cara would be safe. Besides, he’d had security measures installed at the clinic, and the deputy would be there.

  “All right, I’ll drop you, Cara.” He turned to the agent. “Follow me and then we’ll ride together.”

  “I’ll stay here and wait on the crime scene techs and see that our victim is transported to the ME’s office,” Sheriff McRae said.

  Mason jangled his car keys. “Call your deputy now and tell him to meet us at the Winchester clinic.”

  McRae agreed, and he and Cara and the agent hurried to their cars. But as Mason drove to the Winchester clinic, his nerves were on edge.

  He hoped to hell this caller was right, and that they found Morningside.

  He wanted Cara safe and back in bed with him like they were this morning.

  * * *

  CARA CLENCHED HER TEETH as Mason drove her to the clinic. How would Isabella Morningside feel if her ex-husband was the serial killer? What if he came after her? Killing her might be his end game.

  She had to warn Isabella and her other patients.

  By the time they arrived, the deputy was waiting.

  Mason introduced himself. “Don’t leave this place for a moment,” he told the deputy. “We think Morningside left town, but he might circle back and come after Dr. Winchester.”

  The deputy’s expression indicated he understood the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

  Mason shook his hand, then gave Cara one more look. She memorized his face, his eyes, knew that he couldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

  But she wanted him to promise that he’d come back to her alive.

  “Dr. Winchester,” Sherese said as she met her at the door. “Hurry, Ann is at nine centimeters!”

  Cara took a deep breath, then waved to Mason and dashed inside. Three other patients sat in the waiting room, one a woman with a young boy who looked as if he had a bad cough. The other two were routine pregnancy checks.

  “I’ll be with you all as soon as I can,” she said as she passed them and went to wash her hands and suit up.

  Sherese followed her, filling her in. “Her water broke at six a.m., then the contractions started. I’ve prepped her for an epidural but I think it’s too late.”

  Cara nodded, and gripped Sherese’s hands. “Listen, Sherese. Another woman was murdered last night by this navel fetish killer. The police think it was Isabella Morningside’s ex-husband. Call her and warn her to go a friend’s house and stay there. Then call all my patients who chose adoption, and warn them that my files have been compromised and that they need to be vigilant about not being alone.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” Sherese said. “Do you want me to tell them it’s Morningside?”

  “No,” Cara said. “We can’t be sure. Just warn them to be careful.”

  Sherese hurried back to the front desk, and Cara slipped in to the delivery room. Ann Martin, her eighteen-year-old patient, looked up at her with panicked eyes. Her mother stood beside her, wiping her face with a cloth.

  “Help me, Dr. Winchester,” Ann screeched. “The baby’s coming.”

  Cara gave the young girl’s mother a reassuring smile. “Then let’s get your little girl here.”

  She pulled on gloves, then examined Ann. “You’re right,” she said with another smile. “This baby is ready to meet her mother.”

  Another contraction seized her, and Ann clenched the bed rail. “Breathe, honey,” her mother said.

  The mother gripped her daughter’s hands, and Cara patted Ann’s arm. “Good job. Now I’m going to need you to push.”

  Sweat beaded Ann’s face and neck, and she choked on a sob as she clutched the bed, lifted herself to a half sitting position and pushed.

  “She’s crowning now, I see her head,” Cara said. “Hang on a minute, sugar.”

  The young girl wiped at tears. “Is she okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Cara said, although the cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck, and she had to unwind it before Ann pushed her the rest of the way out. Each contraction was choking the infant.

  “Doctor?” Ann’s mother said with a note of panic in her voice as another contraction squeezed Ann’s abdomen.

  “One minute, then we’ll push her out.” Cara carefully unwound the cord, then looked up at Ann. “Okay, now push!”

  Another big push and the baby slid into Cara’s hands. She
caught her and turned her over, slowly massaging her chest until a second later, the baby cried out.

  “She’s perfect, ten fingers, ten toes!” Cara said triumphantly.

  Ann and her mother cried and hugged each other while Cara cleaned the baby and checked her Apgar score. She cut the cord, then wrapped the squealing little girl in a blanket and eased her into her mother’s arms.

  “She’s beautiful,” Ann whispered.

  “My little angel,” her mother cried.

  The next half hour was hectic as Cara finished caring for Ann. “I’m going to send you to the hospital for the night,” Cara said. “Just to make sure all the necessary tests are run for the baby.”

  Ann looked frightened for a moment, but Cara assured her that it was routine. She darted into the front room and phoned the ambulance.

  She had another patient to see so she left Ann and her mother waiting for the ambulance while she examined the little boy and gave him an antibiotic, then walked them to the front.

  A car alarm sounded down the street, and Cara tensed.

  The deputy frowned. “I’ll check it out.”

  Cara nodded, and he jogged down the street while she headed to the next exam room.

  The ambulance arrived and Sherese sent the medics to transport Ann and the baby. Just as they were carrying her out, a sound echoed from the side of the building. A window shattered.

  Cara frowned and rushed to see what had happened, then stared in horror as she spotted a pipe bomb on the floor.

  The bomb was going to explode any second.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mason parked at the gas station where the attendant had spotted Morningside, and he and Agent Whitefield scanned the premises as they entered. A few customers were in the store browsing for snacks, coffee and drinks.

  A young man wearing dreadlocks with a tattoo of a snake on his arm worked the register. “My name is Sheriff Blackpaw and this is Special Agent Whitehead of the FBI. Are you the person who called in about the investigation?”

  The boy inched his shoulders up as if he was impressed by their credentials. “Yeah.”

  “What’s your name?” Agent Whitehead asked.

  “Tray Vaughn,” the boy said.