Page 90 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

At least, this night. In her peripheral vision she caught a glimpse of a shadow and the lower branches of the laurel hedge shuddered. Nikki’s heart nearly stopped and she visibly jumped before she realized that her cat, spooked by the police, had darted under one of the police cruisers. His eyes were wide as he huddled behind one tire, staring out at her.

Nikki bent down on one knee. “Come on, Jen,” she said, feeling some of the animal’s unease. “It’ll be all right.”

But the cat didn’t budge. In fact, when she reached for him, he hissed, baring his needle-sharp teeth, then scrambled away to the far side of the vehicle where he continued to cower and stare at the house.

As if he sensed the very essence of evil.

As if the Grave Robber were lurking nearby.

Hiding in the shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

Nikki’s throat went dry. She felt it then, that cold damp wind that rattled through the branches of the surrounding trees, masking sounds, the night itself hiding the most hideous of murderers, the killer who had decided to contact her.

A footstep scraped on the concrete of the parking lot.

She turned quickly and saw no one.

Or did she?

Was that a shadow in the foliage near the alley?

A dark figure walking by or a trick of light?

Did the fronds of a fern shiver as someone passed?

Suddenly frightened, she stepped backward and bumped into something, a person, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Nikki?” Reed’s voice asked. Turning quickly, she found the detective staring at her, studying her. “Are you all right?”

“Would you be?” she tried to quip back, though her voice faltered a little.

“Me? Hell, no. I’d be scared to death.”

“Yeah, well, that about covers it.” Shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat, she said, “Can we go inside now?”

“I think so. Come on.” Once again he wrapped strong fingers around her arm and propelled her toward the walkway. As she looked ahead to the stairs that wrapped around the outside of the house she knew she’d never climb them again without a new, unwanted sense of trepidation. The Grave Robber had gotten into her home once. What was to stop him from doing it again?

Morrisette didn’t like what was going through her head as she drove through the empty, night-darkened streets of Savannah. Something wasn’t right about the investigation, something major. She was tired, cranky, worried about leaving her kids in the middle of the night with a bleary-eyed sitter and didn’t need this kind of gut-wrenching suspicion.

Reed and Nikki Gillette?

What was with the two of them? Were they involved…? The way they hung close to each other while Gillette’s apartment was searched felt odd…out of sync…like there was more to their relationship than met the eye. But Reed detested reporters, especially the pushy kind like Ms. Gillette. And yet…

Morrisette’s feminine intuition, which was sometimes a blessing but more often a curse, was working overtime tonight. And she wasn’t the only one who’d sensed the shift in the atmosphere. As she’d torn down the old Savannah streets, she’d tried not to notice that her new partner was brooding. Mad at the world. Cliff Siebert hadn’t uttered one word on the short trip to the station. He’d even given her that pissy don’t-ruin-my-lungs glare as she’d lit up. What a tight-ass. She turned onto Habersham and saw that Reed’s El Dorado was on her tail. Nikki Gillette’s little hatchback was behind him and all three of the cars rolled into the parking lot one after the other. Siebert had been watching their little parade in the side-view mirror and now, as she shoved the cruiser into park, his already grim expression darkened. He shot out of the car before Morrisette could cut the engine. Yep, he was gonna be lots of fun, she thought, a regular barrel of laughs. She decided to have a much-needed smoke before facing Reed and Siebert in the interrogation room. She paused for a cigarette, noticed that Reed and Gillette were way too chummy, huddling close together against the weather as they headed inside. Morrisette lit up and took a couple o

f quick hits of nicotine as she walked to the doors. She squashed out her half-smoked Marlboro Light in the ash can. Why was the Grave Robber singling out Nikki Gillette and Pierce Reed? What did they have to do with twelve? Reed had been involved with one of the victims, but, as far as Morrisette knew, Nikki Gillette hadn’t.

Maybe the notes would give them the clue they needed.

Inside the interrogation room, she took charge. Reed stood near the doorway, a concession to not being a part of the case, she supposed, while Siebert and Nikki Gillette claimed a couple of chairs. The station was quiet, only a few cops working graveyard. Even here, Savannah’s bastion of security, the night seemed disturbed. Out of sync. Even a little eerie. But then, everything about this damned case was.

Nikki Gillette offered up a list of her friends and associates and starred those that had keys to her apartment, or had used her keys in the time that she’d rented her apartment. The list was way too long for Morrisette’s way of thinking and, she imagined, incomplete, as it was put together hastily, but it was a starting point. Morrisette reminded the reporter that whatever they discussed was definitely off the record, then listened as Nikki Gillette explained about getting the notes on her car, in her house and the E-mail at work.

“It’s essentially the same things I received, only with different wording,” Reed said, then held up a hand to cut Morrisette off. “Ms. Gillette knows I got the E-mail. We’ve been over this. She’s not reporting this until we make an official statement.”

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