Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,94

out her keys.

The door swung open. Marty was there, looking at them anxiously. “Oh! I was so worried about you!”

“We’re fine, Marty,” Stacey said.

“There was someone out there again,” Marty said. “Sneaking around the house. I was worried. I couldn’t sleep.”

“We’re here now.”

“I called the local police, and they did come. But they didn’t find anything. They thought I was a crazy woman. They told me that it was legal for people to walk on the sidewalk. They said that our neighbors were probably out. But I could feel it, you know? Someone was sneaking around. Where have you been?”

Keenan reckoned that one thing about making a discovery out on a country road meant that the media hadn’t had a chance to seize on it yet.

“Working, Marty,” he said pleasantly. “We desperately need some sleep. It’s day—hey, nothing happens by day, right?” he said.

That wasn’t true.

But they had to escape Marty.

She nodded and swallowed. “Okay, the door is locked. The alarm is back on. I’m glad you’re safe. Good night.”

“Thank you, good night,” Stacey said.

Marty headed up the stairs. They watched her go, and Stacey opened the door to her apartment, walking in with an exhausted sigh.

“I’m so tired!” she murmured.

“You go have the first shower.”

“Not on your life,” she told him. She swirled and smiled and kissed his lips.

They showered. They held close; they made love.

Seconds after, she was asleep.

He let himself drift off as well, ever aware of her, even while he slept.

No alarm rang; there was nothing they had to do early. They would have a go at Dr. Lawrence themselves, but they knew that others would be handling him as he sat in jail.

Jackson would talk to him early, and then maybe Angela.

The MEs and forensic anthropologists and dozens of CSIs would be busy.

But they could sleep late.

It was almost noon when he felt Stacey stirring and he opened his own eyes.

She kissed his lips quickly and gave him a brilliant smile.

“I slept, Keenan. I slept so well. I didn’t dream. Do you think that means...”

“I’m so glad you had a good night’s sleep,” he told her softly. “I don’t know what it means.” He shrugged, not wanting to ruin her morning.

He knew that they were just beginning.

And she knew that, too. But for the moment, they could be pleased with the night that had passed.

“It means breakfast!” he said. “I’m starving.”

“Me, too.”

She leaped happily out of bed. She left the room just seconds before his phone rang.

It was Jackson.

And, as Keenan had expected, the end was just beginning.

* * *

Stacey wanted to make omelets; Keenan was happy to chop up tomatoes and peppers to go in them and grate cheese.

They enjoyed the meal, managing to talk about something other than the case for a bit.

But the case was an elephant in the room. And with breakfast enjoyed and over, they left for the office.

“So much will happen today—mediawise,” Keenan told her as they locked up.

“Of course. People... Well, the media is important. When it isn’t skewed.”

“It’s always skewed these days.”

“I don’t think that this is the kind of thing anyone needs to skew,” she told him. “Wouldn’t it be great if Dr. Lawrence did just start talking?”

“It would be great,” Keenan agreed. “But unlikely to happen.”

“He knows he could face the death penalty.”

“He’s still claiming innocence. I talked to Jackson; he was with him this morning. He sent Angela in. He still claims that he had no idea that people were planting bodies on his property. We’ve questioned the housekeeper. She was terrified and panicked and so was given some sedatives. She also swears that she knew nothing about the bodies. And she’s lived on the property for about a year, though she goes on weekends to stay with her niece. The bodies were buried deep enough to keep them from being disturbed by animals. Most were covered with lye, but... I’m not an ME. Beau Simpson is the best, and he’s seen enough to believe that the organs were definitely taken from them.”

“So—we get a crack at Dr. Lawrence, too?” Stacey asked.

“Oh, yes. Separately, I think. Then maybe together. We’ll see.”

Jackson Crow was holding the press conference right when they arrived; news was seeping out about the many bodies that had been found on the property of the very respected Dr. Henry Lawrence.

Jackson could handle a press conference like no one else.

Yes, Dr. Lawrence was being held. He was being held, at the moment, but they needed to remember that while he would probably