the State Crime Lab in Madison.
Obviously, her level of paranoia was already several standard deviations from the mean. Picking at her chicken sandwich, she took only a few bites before pushing her plate away.
Post-traumatic stress disorder. Diagnosed by her psychologist after she’d testified against the serial killer who’d strangled Katie as his last victim. PTSD brought on from being the lead crime scene investigator in a series of murders that included her sister’s. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Katie’s body lying sprawled on the asphalt with the bright orange hollow-braided rope wrapped around her neck.
The image would haunt her forever.
Her boss had forced her to step back from being the lead investigator, but she’d continued working on the case in the lab until she’d gathered enough evidence to nail the man who’d killed her sister. It was small consolation to know Paul Sherman was serving a life sentence in a high-security Illinois prison as a result of her work.
Megan sighed and scrubbed a hand over her eyes. She needed to get a grip. She wasn’t being followed. The people of Crystal Lake weren’t out to get her. And Katie, the sister she’d raised since their parents had died in a tragic car wreck, wasn’t ever coming back.
She’d come to Crystal Lake to heal. To take a break. To find herself. Somehow, she needed to get over her loss. Now that the trial was over, she couldn’t seem to find something to focus on. She tossed down some cash to cover her tab and Josie’s tip before sliding off the stool and heading toward the door.
She really, really didn’t want to believe she was going crazy.
Because if that were truly the case, sheer determination might not be enough to prevent the inevitable.
Lucas Torretti watched the petite woman, her shoulder-length red hair glinting brightly in the sun as she left the diner. She was pretty, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. Must be the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her cute nose. And when she’d looked up at him, her bright eyes had been almost mesmerizing. He caught Frank’s gaze and lifted his chin in her direction. “Do you know her? Or is she one of the summer tourists?”
Deputy Frank Rawson followed Megan’s lean figure as she climbed back into her car. Out of the group of guys working for the sheriff’s department, Frank was one of the few who didn’t begrudge Luke’s position as interim sheriff. Mainly because Frank had never wanted the job for himself. Frank was serving the last two years of his duty before taking a well-earned retirement. “Yeah, that’s Megan O’Ryan. Moved into the old Dartmouth place. Lucille Dartmouth was her mother’s sister.”
Luke nodded, noting the make of her car, a white Pontiac Sunfire, as she pulled away from the curb. He memorized the tag number, thinking he might run her DMV record just for fun. “What’s her story?”
Frank lifted a disbelieving brow. “What, have you been living under a rock? How could you not have heard about Megan O’Ryan? She’s the infamous crime scene investigator that helped convict the St. Patrick’s Strangler down in Chicago earlier this year. Her younger sister was the perp’s last victim.”
Ouch. That must have been rough. He vaguely remembered the story now. It had hit the national news because the crime scene analyst who’d helped put the pieces of the puzzle together had been removed from the case when they’d discovered her sister was the latest victim. But she’d continued working the case in the lab and had testified in court against her sister’s killer.
No wonder she’d been talking herself out of going crazy.
“Which one is the old Dartmouth place?” he asked, curiosity winning out against his better judgment.
“Ten miles north as the crow flies, on the dead end of Barker Road.” Frank flashed a knowing smirk. “Why? Thinking of dropping by for a neighborly visit?”
“Of course not,” he responded, just a little too quickly. He tossed some money on the tabletop to cover their bill and stood. “Let’s get back to work. I don’t want to be late for my meeting with the mayor.”
As they left, he thought again about Frank’s directions to Megan O’Ryan’s cabin. He knew exactly where it was, even if he hadn’t known the locals referred to it as the Dartmouth place. The cabin was isolated, being so far off the main highway. Was Megan O’Ryan afraid to be out there alone? Maybe he should make sure the deputies covered the cabin in their weekly rounds. Luckily, there wasn’t a whole lot of crime in Crystal Lake.
He brought himself up short. Why this sudden surge of concern about Megan O’Ryan? She might be the most attractive woman he’d met in a long time, but he wasn’t interested in a relationship. Not now, maybe not ever.
After his wife’s death three years ago, his life had spiraled out of control. He’d hit the proverbial rock bottom, losing his job and almost losing custody of his son when he’d tried to drown his sorrows in alcohol. With the help of his pastor and God, he’d managed to pull himself together. But he’d soon realized Sam had gotten involved with a scary group of kids, so he’d packed up their things and moved them to Crystal Lake.
Working as a deputy on staff had been good enough for him, but he’d been given the job as interim sheriff three weeks ago when his boss had suffered a major heart attack and had subsequent quadruple-bypass surgery.
Despite the obvious resentment from his former peers, everything was going fine. Except for his relationship with his seventeen-year-old son, Sam. Over the past year and a half, things had gone from bad to worse. In fact, there were days he honestly believed his relationship with Sam would never recover.
Not that he intended to stop trying. He prayed every day for God to help guide them both.
Teenagers, he reminded himself. Teenagers were tough on parents. If he survived Sam’s teenage rebellion, he could survive anything.
Luke finished his meeting with the mayor. He had wanted to know if Luke would consider throwing his hat into the running for the permanent job of sheriff now that Dan Koenig, humbled from his close call with death, had announced his retirement. Luke had promised to think about it, but in reality he knew life would be more difficult than ever if he took that course of action.
Besides, he’d never get elected sheriff. Not when most of the guys in the department figured they had a better chance of winning the election and barely tolerated his presence in an interim role.
There was too much paperwork associated with being the sheriff anyway. Back in his office he stared at the mound that seemed to grow by the hour. He sighed. Likely a few of the deputies would throw their name into the race. They considered him an outsider because he hadn’t lived and worked for most of his life in Crystal Lake. The fact that he’d been a Milwaukee homicide detective for ten years didn’t seem to matter here, where the good ole boys’ club still played poker every Friday night.
Luke wasn’t much into playing cards.
Well after five o’clock, he headed home, knowing the minute he hit the driveway that Sam wasn’t there. Sam was never home if he could help it, and most of the time Luke had no idea where Sam was. Mayor Ganzer would never have offered to support him in the election for sheriff if he’d known Luke couldn’t keep tabs on his own kid.
Sam had promised to be home, but of course he wasn’t. So much for trying to talk, even to ask how his son’s day had been.
He looked
