Page 13 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“What the hell does that mean?” another voice, the one they’d called Baldwin, demanded.

A thrill slithered down The Survivor’s spine.

“Don’t know, but I got a similar note this morning at the station.”

The Survivor smiled at the note of trepidation in Reed’s voice. The cop was worried. Good. You should be, you pathetic piece of shit. For once, do your damned job!

“What did that one say?” Baldwin again.

“One, two, the first few. Hear them cry, listen to them die.”

That’s right.

“Hell. Well, the guy ain’t no damned Shakespeare.”

The smile fell from The Survivor’s face…What kind of comment was that?

“But you’re sure it’s the same guy?”

Of course it is, you insignificant hick!

“Same paper. Same handwriting.” Reed again. Solemn. A thread of anger in his voice. Perfect.

“So we got ourselves a nutcase and he’s focused on you.”

“Looks as if.”

“And it’s pretty serious if he killed your girlfriend and dropped her into a coffin that he went to the trouble of digging up. We’d better check the local cemeteries.”

“And try to ID the other woman. There might be a link between them.”

The Survivor licked his dry lips. Heard the rustle of the wind through the brittle branches overhead. Perhaps he’d given too much away too soon.

“Let’s find out.”

“Wait a minute.” Reed barked out the terse command.

Time was ticking by, precious seconds where those damned curs might locate him, but The Survivor lingered, couldn’t resist hearing the rest. Again, he trained his field glasses toward the light. He hoped for a glimpse of Reed, craved the chance to see pain etched upon the cop’s face. Imagining Reed bending over, observing his naked lover’s features in death’s cold detail was sweet, sweet vengeance. His pulse accelerated in anticipation.

“Look at this! The lining’s been shredded, and her fingers…” His voice shivered in fury and despair.

That’s right Reed, she tried to claw her way out. The Survivor felt his blood quicken at the

thought. Barbara Jean Marx had gotten what she’d deserved. So would the others.

A dog began baying, his excited howls echoing through the canyon.

He couldn’t stay much longer. It wasn’t safe. The Survivor loved dragging Reed up here to the back country where the bastard had been born. Now it was time to return to Savannah…. Hauling the coffin here had been dangerous; he could have been seen, but it had been worth it, just to rattle Reed. To point the cops in the wrong damned direction. But he hadn’t counted on those dumb-ass kids showing up first; that had been a mistake.

He wouldn’t make another.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that she wasn’t dead…Oh, Christ, you wanted to see my reaction, didn’t you? What? You think somehow I was involved in this and that I put my own name on the note and…” His voice faded for a second. The Survivor imagined the cop pulling himself together. “Listen to me, you bastard, whoever you are.” Now the voice was clear, as if Reed were speaking directly into the microphone. “You’re not going to get away with this, you hear? I’ll hunt you, you sick bastard. To the ground. You got that? To the damned ground. You’ll never rest easy again!”

Oh, no, Reed? The Survivor gathered his pack and began quickly walking along the path toward his truck. Just watch me.

The needle on the speedometer slanted well over sixty as Nikki drove steadily north through the night. Her hatchback threatened to spin out on the curves, but she held the wheel steady, zipping through the hills as a thin rain began to fall. Automatically she flipped on the wipers. And noticed she was nearly out of gas.

She had her route planned out and only wished she could zap herself with a magic wand or one of those sci-fi teleporters so she could land in Lumpkin County when Reed arrived at the scene of the crime, which, if she figured right, was a double homicide. She’d caught some information on the police band, but it wasn’t enough to piece together. All she knew was that she was heading for an old logging road near Blood Mountain. She’d plugged her laptop computer into the GPS and had found her route, but she needed more information. She’d tried the Lumpkin County Sheriff’s Department and, naturally, was told by a recording that it was closed until the next morning. She’d called a couple of contacts she had up here, but nothing had panned out. When she’d dialed Cliff Siebert again, he hadn’t picked up. No doubt he was ducking her.

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