it, either.”
“He’ll get over it.” Paul tipped his head to the side. “Come in.”
Melissa entered, sinking into the seat across from Paul’s desk. “What are you going to do about the note?”
“I made a few calls to outlying counties. I haven’t called the Bexar County Sheriff or San Antonio Police Department yet. They’re next on my list.”
“What exactly are you asking them?”
“I’m inquiring about missing persons reported in the past forty-eight hours.” He glanced at Melissa. “You got any other ideas?”
“I’ll run the envelope and letter over to Forensics to see if we can lift any prints.”
“Thanks.”
“What do you think? Is it a real threat or a prank?”
Paul tapped a pencil to his desk blotter. “I don’t know. But I have a bad feeling about it. Elise and her kids are on their own. Vulnerable.”
“Why don’t you assign an agent to them?”
“A note isn’t enough to go on. By rights, it should be a local case, not even in FBI jurisdiction.”
“Unless Stan Klaus really is alive and up to his old tricks again.”
The phone on Paul’s desk rang. “Let’s hope not.”
Paul lifted the receiver. “This is Fletcher.”
“Agent Fletcher, this is Rita at the Kendall County Sheriff’s Office. We just had a woman reported missing. Last seen at ten o’clock last night. Normally a missing-persons report isn’t filed until twenty-four hours after the person has supposedly gone missing, but you wanted to know.”
Chapter Three
Elise spent two hours lying in bed that night willing herself to sleep with very little luck. Shortly after midnight, due to sheer exhaustion, she dozed off.
The dream started with her as a teenager during the first flood when her family had evacuated Riverton. Her father, mother and sister were all there, alive and well. The dream transitioned into the flood of two years ago, when the Riverton Police Department and the FBI were hot on the case of a serial killer.
They didn’t know who it was, but she did. She was lying in bed next to her husband in her house in North Dakota. Her husband was the killer, but he didn’t know she knew. Terrified, she lay there, afraid to look at him lest he see in her eyes that she knew. When she worked up the courage and looked at Stan, he was gone.
Afraid for her boys, she leaped out of bed and ran down the longest hallway of her life. She didn’t remember the hall being that long, but the more she ran, the longer it became. When she finally reached the boys’ room and peered in, their beds were empty and floodwaters had seeped through the walls.
She searched through the house, the water rising from her ankles to her knees, dragging at her nightgown, pulling her down. With water up to her waist, she couldn’t find the front door to the house. Where were the boys? They weren’t good swimmers. Had Stan taken them? Would he murder his own sons like he’d murdered those women?
When she finally found the front door, she grabbed the handle beneath the surface of the water and pulled, but the door wouldn’t open. The water kept it from moving and had risen to just below her chin.
“Help!” she cried. “Help me!” No one heard her, no one came. When the water covered her face, the door opened and she poured out into the cold, dark street. The flood had only been in her house. The streets were dry and everyone was gone.
She was completely alone.
Elise knew in her heart it was all a dream, but when the fear and emptiness threatened to choke off her air, she forced herself awake. She was the only one who could stop the nightmare from sucking her into a black abyss of despair. She was the only one who could make the evil go away.
At two o’clock, she woke, her body shaking. The covers had slid to the floor and the air conditioner had done an excellent job of keeping the house cool. Too cool.
A subtle creaking sound reached her from the living room. Was someone in the house or was she going to start imagining that every noise was Stan trying to break into her home?
She slid her feet over the edge of the bed and stepped onto the floor, glad it was dry and not flooding like the house in her dream. Padding quietly down the hallway, she confirmed both boys were still in the house. As if they sensed their mother’s restlessness, they’d tossed off the covers from their matching twin beds. She tucked them in, kissed their foreheads and trudged back to her room.
By four o’clock, Elise gave up her pretense at sleeping, afraid she’d go right back to the same nightmare. Instead, she paced, working through every possible scenario. If the note wasn’t from Stan, who would be sick enough to send it to her? Since it hadn’t gone through the postal system, someone who had access to the school had to have left it there. How many people could she have angered in the past few months? Angry enough to send her threatening notes? One of her students? A parent? The garbage man? Her next-door neighbor? Who? Her head ached and she still hadn’t come up with one viable suspect.
INSTEAD OF LETTING THE BOYS ride the bus that morning, she dropped them off at school. If Stan were alive, he’d want his boys. How could she keep them safe? She couldn’t stay home and lock the doors forever, could she?
Before the boys got out of the car, she warned them that she was the only person allowed to pick them up and they were not to talk to strangers. Ever.
Brandon nodded, his face somber.
Luke bounced out of the car, shouting, “Okay, Mom.”
On her drive to work, she almost wrecked when she saw a man who vaguely resembled Stan. She circled the street, looking for him, but he’d disappeared. By the time she arrived at the school, she swore she’d seen at least a dozen Stan Klaus look-alikes.
This is crazy! How could she live like this, scared of every man with brown hair and brown eyes?
Afraid someone would stop her in the hallway and ask her what was wrong, she ducked into her classroom and hid behind her computer, hoping no one would talk to her before class started. What could she say? I’m not sleeping well because my demented, serial-killer husband is not dead like I thought.
Ten minutes before the bell rang for second period and Elise’s first class, Gerri Finch flounced into the room, a sullen Ashley in tow. “Ms. Johnson, what do you mean by giving my Ashley three tardies in your class?”
At barely eight in the morning, after a sleepless night of worry, Elise was in no mood to put up with Gerri. “Did you ask Ashley?”
“Don’t get flippant with me. I pay your salary out of the god-awful amount of taxes I pay each year. Don’t think I can’t pull the plug on your little vendetta against my little girl.”
Elise would bet Gerri Finch hadn’t worked a day in her life and if she had, she hadn’t paid a dime of taxes. As the general manager of one of the larger auto dealerships in San Antonio, her
