LET ME FORGET, page 10
And even though a strong need to protect Ashley tugged at his soul, Wyatt knew better than to invite her to stay with him in his room. She’d made it clear that she still didn’t trust him enough. He guessed that she’d heard the gossip floating around the bureau. Rumors about him that proved less than half true.
Regardless of his not-so-deserved reputation, Ashley was safe with Wyatt. Although he couldn’t forget the jolt of electricity that had surged through his body when their fingers had touched (it had haunted his mind all day), he would never make a move unless she gave him an indication that it was something she wanted. And right now, she was dating Daniel Lansing. A man with a sterling character. So, Wyatt likely didn’t stand a chance.
With phone in hand, he slipped on his shoes and trotted back to Ashley’s room. He snapped photos of the dead frogs from several different angles. Whenever they uncovered the identity of her stalker, she had enough evidence to hang the man. Not just for the stalking charge, but also for breaking and entering.
Satisfied that he’d taken enough photographs, Wyatt pocketed his phone. He folded the bottom and top sheet together, encasing the frogs like an envelope, and stripped them from the bed. The mattress would likely retain the formaldehyde odor, but at the moment, there was nothing he could do about that.
“I’ll take them out to the trash,” he said.
A look of relief flashed across Ashley’s face. “Thank you.”
As he crossed the motel room’s threshold, he scanned the parking lot. Was the stalker watching him now? Only a few streetlights dotted the pavement. The man could be hiding in the shadows, peering at him through the window of a car or pickup. If the stalker was here, he might decide to sneak into Ashley’s room while she was sleeping.
Wyatt needed to figure out a way to ensure Ashley’s safety.
After tossing the frogs into the dumpster, his gaze swept the parking lot once more. He still didn’t see anyone. He headed back into the motel room. He caught Ashley pacing in the vanity area, her arms folded across her chest. He could see the wheels of her mind turning. It was obvious that she was trying to come up with a plan.
But an idea had already struck Wyatt.
“Let’s switch rooms,” he said. “Just for sleeping. Leave all your stuff here, so that if they break in while we’re gone, they won’t notice it. But if they come in at night, they’ll have to deal with me.”
He knew how easy it would be for someone to open the swing-bar safety latch on the motel door using only a piece of string. An instructor had demonstrated the technique at a TBI conference several years earlier.
Ashley stared at him for a moment as though she was considering the proposition.
“I don’t want to be responsible for putting you in danger,” she said.
“You won’t be. I’ll rig up something at the door that will make noise. I’ll have my Glock drawn before they step into the room.”
He hoped that she would listen to him. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he allowed someone to hurt her.
Ashley chewed her bottom lip. “Okay,” she finally said, nodding. “As long as you’re sure it’s what you want to do.”
“I’m sure.”
He’d go even further to protect Ashley if she’d let him.
Wyatt wandered toward the window, giving her a bit of privacy as she gathered up a few essential items—toiletries and a change of clothing.
“I guess I’ll see you in the morning then,” she said.
Ashley disappeared through the connecting doorway. He noticed that although she’d chosen to shut the door, he hadn’t heard the lock click into place. She was obviously rattled, and he couldn’t blame her.
Moving into the vanity area, he found Ashley’s bottle of liquid laundry detergent on the counter. The bottom was concaved by just the right amount. He balanced the bottle on top of the motel room’s doorknob and tested it to make sure it would stay put. If someone tried to get inside, the bottle was heavy enough that he’d hear it when it hit the floor.
Wyatt switched off the lights and crawled into the clean bed by the window. Despite the night’s excitement, he drifted off to sleep within just a few minutes. Images of Kaylee, laughing in the sunshine, playing on a swing set, filled his dreams. And then Ashley appeared. Her blue eyes sparked as she reached for his hand. As their fingers intertwined, her beauty took his breath away. She leaned toward him, her lips seeking his—
An urgent ringing sound jerked Wyatt awake. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 6:04 a.m. Groggy, his hand searched the top of the small table for his cell phone. Then he realized the ringing had come from the landline.
He picked up the receiver of the motel phone.
“Clark,” he said, his voice laden with sleep.
No one spoke.
“Hello?”
He heard a familiar sound on the other end of the line. Faint chatter and the keying of a mic. A police radio. Was it the sheriff calling?
He sat up in bed. “This is Wyatt Clark,” he stated.
A dial tone answered him. Whoever it was, they’d decided to hang up. It had most likely been a wrong number. Someone with a police scanner.
And then a realization hit him. Had Ashley’s stalker called?
Maybe it would be best not to mention it to her. Knowing about the call wouldn’t change anything, and she had enough to worry about already. Sighing, he slung his legs over the edge of the bed. His alarm was set for six-thirty, so he might as well get up now. He could make a coffee run.
As he stepped into his chinos, his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID. This time, it really was Sheriff Hyland.
“Clark,” he answered, his voice firm.
“Hate to call so early, Agent Clark,” Hyland stated, his voice on edge. “But we’ve got a new development. And I think it’s connected to Cole.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ashley slid out of the bed in Wyatt’s motel room and pulled on her robe. Her shoulder ached, and her eyes felt grainy. Sleep had evaded her for most of the night. Visions of decapitated opossums and zombie-like frogs had haunted her dreams. Knowing that someone possessed the ability to sneak into her apartment and her motel room at will, and that they’d likely pawed her most intimate belongings, chilled her to the core.
Who had followed her to Fergus County? And why had they chosen frogs to put into her bed?
The members of her ex-husband’s family had proven ruthless in the past. They’d once burned down an enemy’s barn with his livestock trapped inside. But if they wanted to terrorize Ashley with dead animals, why not pick something they could catch in the wild?
Although winter had descended upon the mountains, the forest still teemed with wildlife. Rabbits, quail, turkeys, beavers, and of course, deer, all roamed the land. And the Barrett clan was known for their expert hunting skills. Why would they go to the trouble of breaking into a school to steal bullfrogs? It made no sense.
Unless they were trying to send a specific message.
What did the frogs and the opossum symbolize? They had to be connected to her past with Ethan in some way. But Ashley couldn’t figure out how.
She shuffled into the vanity area and washed her face. Had she made the wrong decision by switching rooms with Wyatt? The fact that she may have put him in harm’s way pricked at her soul. She’d agreed to his plan based on one assumption. If the stalker came in and found Wyatt, she guessed that the intruder would flee rather than confront the TBI agent. And she’d also taken Wyatt at his word that he would engineer an alarm system, so that he would hear someone coming before they breached the door.
Wyatt had assured her that he would be waiting for the stalker, Glock poised for action.
Pulling on her jeans, Ashley glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was already a couple of minutes past six. Daniel would be calling soon. Ashley sighed as she realized that she’d left her cell phone back in her original motel room.
Was Wyatt awake yet? She didn’t want to disturb his sleep, but she also didn’t feel comfortable sneaking into the room. What if he’d chosen to sleep in the nude? She might see something that she would prefer remained a mystery. She’d just have to call Daniel back later. He’d understand. And she knew that he’d be grateful that Wyatt had offered to switch rooms.
Ashley scooped the remote from the top of the chest of drawers and switched on the television. As she flipped through the channels, searching for the weather station, she thought she heard a faint ringing coming from her old room. She hit the mute button.
She perched on the side of the bed, listening. It wasn’t her cell phone or Wyatt’s cell that she’d heard; she knew that. But she thought maybe it was a ring tone he’d set as a wake-up alarm. If he was up now, she could get her phone. Maybe she wouldn’t miss Daniel’s call after all.
Deciding to give Wyatt a minute or two to get dressed, she turned up the volume of the television. It appeared as though today would be a carbon copy of yesterday as far as the weather was concerned.
Another faint ringing seeped into the room. This time, she recognized the jingle. It was Wyatt’s cell phone. A call at this hour was likely bad news.
Had they found Cole’s body?
Concern filled her chest as she switched off the TV. She rose from the bed and inched toward the door that connected the two rooms. But then she stopped short. She didn’t want to eavesdrop in case the call turned out to be personal.
With her nervous energy building, she strode to the window, parted the curtain, and peeked out at the parking lot. Was the stalker here? Waiting for Ashley to leave so he could slip into her room again? What other surprises did he have planned?
A knock echoed from the connecting door.
“Ashley?” Wyatt called out.
The tone of his voice let her know that she’d been right. The call had contained bad news.
She raced toward the door and pulled it open. Before she could ask what had happened, Wyatt spoke.
“The sheriff just called,” he said. “There’s another missing person. And Hyland thinks this case might be connected to Cole. I told him we’d be right over.”
Although it unnerved her to hear that someone else had gone missing, she was relieved that the sheriff hadn’t called to inform them that Cole had been found murdered.
“I’m ready to head out whenever you are,” she told Wyatt.
He nodded. “In case someone’s watching, we should leave from our assigned rooms,” he said. “Make sure to take your hairbrush and … other stuff back with you so they don’t get suspicious. And lock the connecting door.”
Ashley gathered up her things and returned to her original room. She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand next to the frog bed. Irritation shot through her as she checked the screen. She’d forgotten to plug her phone into the charger. During the night, the battery had died.
Daniel’s call this morning would have been sent straight to voice mail.
Luckily, she’d packed her vehicle charger. How long would it take to juice the battery enough to power the phone back on? She needed to send Daniel a text letting him know what had happened. She didn’t want him to think she’d ignored his call.
She stuffed her charger into her jacket pocket and glanced around the room. Everything looked right. Felt right. If the stalker broke in again while she was gone, he’d think she was still sleeping here.
Eager to learn the details surrounding the new disappearance, Ashley raced out the motel room door.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ashley plucked her cell phone from the center console of the SUV and pressed the power button. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Only fifteen minutes had passed since she’d plugged the phone into the charging port, and she feared it might not work yet. But she hoped to be able to send Daniel a text before she and Wyatt reached their destination.
Investigating the scene of the second disappearance might take a couple of hours. And she didn’t want Daniel to have to wait that long, wondering why he hadn’t been able to reach her this morning. With everything that had transpired lately—the threats from her stalker and the fact that she’d been shot—she didn’t want him to worry that something bad had happened to her.
Relief rushed through her heart as the manufacturer’s logo popped up on the screen. After entering her passcode, she checked for a voicemail notification. There was nothing new.
Opening the text app, she tapped out a message.
Sorry we didn’t get to talk this morning.
My cell battery died.
Can’t wait to hear your voice again.
Call me when you can. I miss you.
As Ashley tapped Send, the computerized female voice from the SUV’s navigation system announced that 1252 Homestead, the missing man’s residence, was just up ahead. Woven wire fencing lined the right side of the road. At the top of the slope, a herd of light-brown Jersey cows huddled near a gray metal barn. The man and his wife obviously ran a dairy farm.
Wyatt piloted the SUV up the long gravel drive to the left of a white two-story farmhouse. Two Fergus County Sheriff’s Department cruisers crowded the parking area, resting behind a green pickup and a blue sedan. As Ashley hopped out of the passenger’s seat, Sheriff Hyland emerged from the front door of the house. He trotted down the porch steps and headed toward the driveway.
“Thanks for getting here so fast,” Hyland said, nodding at both Wyatt and Ashley. “The wife is pretty upset. Her name’s Marilyn Osborne. She’s chomping at the bit to talk to you two.”
If the mountain local was eager to talk to state law enforcement, she likely feared her husband was in real danger, not just taking a break from the routine of his life on the farm.
“Lead the way,” Wyatt told Hyland.
The sheriff motioned for Ashley to go first. She strode up the pea gravel path and mounted the front porch. A dark-haired deputy met her at the door, pulling it open. After slipping protective covers over the soles of her hiking boots, she crossed the threshold into the foyer.
Glass shards littered the hardwood floor. The remnants of what had once been a vase, filled with silk flowers in shades ranging from light pink to cranberry, rested beside a small, overturned, accent table to the left of the staircase.
The deputy pointed to the doorway at the end of the foyer. “Mrs. Osborne’s in the living room,” he said, his voice hushed.
“Thank you.”
Ashley felt Wyatt’s presence behind her. She glanced at him over her shoulder and then veered around the glass, hugging the foyer wall, as she made her way toward the living room. As she entered, a slender woman with shoulder-length brown hair, who appeared to be in her early thirties, rose up from the plaid sofa.
“I’m TBI Special Agent Ashley Hope,” she said.
“Marilyn Osborne.”
Instead of shaking Ashley’s offered hand, the woman pressed a photograph onto her palm. “We had this picture took just a couple months ago,” Marilyn said. “That’s Jerry.”
Ashley studied the photo. It appeared to have been shot at some type of harvest festival. An attractive man with sandy hair stood next to Marilyn, a wide smile striping his face.
Wyatt walked to the woman’s side. “I’m Special Agent Wyatt Clark.”
Marilyn nodded. The woman’s face appeared ashen, her eyes red and puffy. “Y’all have a seat,” she said.
Ashley sank onto the sofa next to Marilyn. Wyatt chose the adjacent armchair.
“When did you first discover that your husband was missing?” Ashley asked.
“It was early,” Marilyn began, her voice strained. “I spent last night at my mama’s house. I got home around four this morning to help Jerry with the chores. We milk twice a day. At five in the morning and five in the evening. Anyway, when I come home, I seen the back door was standing open. I knew something was wrong.”
“Did you see anyone—or any strange vehicles—near the house?”
“No. Just Jerry’s pickup in the driveway.”
Marilyn cleared her throat. She continued, “When I got inside the kitchen, the lights wouldn’t come on. I had to get my flashlight out of the car. Then I seen one of the chairs was knocked over. The kitchen table was moved too. Like somebody bumped into it. I hollered for Jerry, but he didn’t answer me. I found out the breaker box was switched off. After I got the lights on, I searched the whole house and the barn.” Her voice faltered. “Jerry was gone,” she squeaked, tears welling in her eyes.
Ashley’s heart went out to the woman.
“Did you notice any items or money missing from the house?”
It was possible that Jerry had interrupted a robbery. If the Osbornes sold milk or butter to their neighbors, they might keep cash on hand.
“Naw, there wasn’t nothing stolen.”
Her husband must have been targeted for some reason. Likely by someone who was aware that Marilyn had gone away for a visit.
“Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against Jerry?” she asked.
Marilyn stared at the wad of tissues clasped in her hands as though she was thinking the matter through. “No. I don’t reckon he has any enemies.”
“Has anything odd happened during the last few days? Did Jerry mention that he thought he was being followed, or that he’d noticed something unusual?”
Marilyn shook her head. “Everything was good.”
Ashley decided to switch gears. “Do you know a man named Cole Gowen?”
The woman answered without hesitation. “I don’t. But Jerry might. Is that man a criminal?”
“No, he’s not,” Ashley answered, not wanting to divulge any further information. “What about a man named Lester Warwick?”
Ashley felt Wyatt’s gaze shift from Marilyn to her. She hadn’t yet told him that she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right about Warwick.
Marilyn’s eyes widened. “Lester worked for us a while back. Do you think he done it?”
