CHAPTER I

 

Snake River, Idaho

June 6

 

          Deep in the green forest of the Idaho Mountains, Lucifer watched Sarah from his hiding place. He recorded her every move. From the moment she had arrived and set up her easel, he barely moved a muscle. He was content and comfortable. To anyone within sight his lair looked like a disarray of downed tree limbs and forest debris. His camouflage was so perfect deer grazed just inches away. Tomorrow he would do more than watch—tomorrow she would be his forever. A cool breeze rustled the leaves and a haunting melody flowed among the treetops.

          His breath caught in his throat. He almost dropped his camera. She was looking right at him. He could have sworn he saw recognition, then she smiled. His body flushed with excitement. She knew he was there. His hands began to sweat, his heart pounded. He shut the camera off, and carefully lowered it to the ground. It took a great deal of strength not to go to her, but he had plans, carefully constructed arrangements that he had to follow in order to achieve perfection. He stayed silent, motionless, but vigilante.

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          A bee disturbed her concentration as it darted around the flowers she had just painted, as though there was nectar in the colors. It flew off to find the real thing, and she realized she had been working for hours without a break. Sarah, put her palette down, stretched her stiff muscles and stood back to observe her work, then she surveyed the scenery. Something in the trees caught her eye. A chill went up her spine, but alarm was replaced by a smile when she spotted the doe and its fawn grazing contentedly.

          Surprise was her next reaction when she scrutinized her work and realized that something was off. Her intent had been to capture the sunlight filtering through the trees, the small waterfall, the multicolored wild flowers that covered the banks—the serenity of nature on a beautiful morning in the mountains of Idaho. However, her painting looked nothing like she had planned; the soft light appeared to be fog seeping in from a foreboding and dark landscape. The bright red flowers looked blood fed. When she looked closer, she saw someone in the background. Sinister eyes glowed from a dark shadow hidden in the trees.         Apprehension filled her as she examined the area around her. Shocked at what she had painted and unexpectedly unnerved, she searched the woods for any sign of Steven, and for the phantom that haunted her painting. Steven had promised to join her with a picnic lunch. It was an hour past that time. Worried, she gathered her materials, and hurriedly made her way back to their cabin.

          Since Steven had joined her on May 14, painting had become the joy it once was. Excluding today she had captured the beauty and the colors of an Idaho sunset and sunrise, and the blossoming greenery. The mountains, the high desert, and the Snake River filled her canvases. For the first week and a half, their reunion was as heavenly as a honeymoon despite the lack of a ceremony making it official.

          This week Steven seemed distracted. His phone rang incessantly and he was always in some secret discussion. She tried to get him to share his concerns, but he told her it was work-related and he wanted to keep business separate from their life. She understood, yet it was disquieting. This was their vacation, should have been their honeymoon.

          She had mentioned a justice of the peace, but he insisted they do it up right. The wedding of her dreams was his goal. He wanted to see her walk down the aisle in front of family and friends. She knew it was because her first marriage was an elopement, and he wanted to give her something special. However, every time she mentioned flying home to get the plans started, he insisted they wait. He wanted the press to forget about recent history: a history that included the murders of her husband, four innocent women, and two decorated police officers by a murderer who had stalked and tortured her. Sarah had been horribly injured, and even though she managed to save herself, her life was forever changed. Her privacy was gone; the woman who loved her solitude had become fodder for the news rags. Gossip, formerly a pet peeve had become her curse. 

          By the time she reached the cabin, the fear that had overwhelmed her was gone. She put her supplies away, put her canvas where it could dry properly, and went looking for Steven. From the living room, she saw him sitting at the table on the patio. He was talking to a visitor, Helen Gabble, a co-worker from Anchorage. Sarah was surprised to see Helen and wondered what emergency required her to make a trip so far south. Dressed in shorts and a cotton blouse instead of her usual suit, Helen looked agitated rather than casual. She was a no-nonsense sort of woman, and Sarah imagined that on the field of battle she was the kind who took no prisoners.

         Sarah could tell by their body language that Steven and Helen were talking business. Steven had his arms folded across his chest and was listening intently. Helen stood at the end of the table, both hands flat on the surface. She finished her sentence and threw her hands up in apparent defeat. Whatever she was telling Steven, he did not agree. Instead of disturbing them, Sarah went to the kitchen to prepare sandwiches and ice tea for lunch.

          She opened the refrigerator just as their words drifted in through the open kitchen window. She stopped dead in her tracks. "If only she'd done the right thing four years ago none of this would've happened," Steven said.

        Sarah stood motionless. His words were about her. An utterance she never thought she would hear him repeat. She had shared an intimacy with him. A confidence he had assured her would always be their secret—he was discussing with Helen.

          Helen was speaking now. "I don't understand, Steven. Why isn't any of that in the report? It's not like you to withhold evidence."

          "It wasn't necessary to close the case," he insisted. "I promised Sarah. He was a murderer; dragging her name through the mud ... it just wasn't necessary." He sighed. "I couldn't have it become public knowledge. The papers would've had a field day."

          "They are, Steven. They are. There's a rumor they had a sexual relationship. Don't you think the truth would be better?"

          "No! No matter what's written they'll make it sound like it's her fault," Steven declared.

          "You just said it was. You just said 'if only she'd done the right thing four years ago.' Maybe lives would have been saved." Helen drew an unfair conclusion.

          "No! It wouldn't have saved Michael. It may have made things worse. We can't know what would've been! I will not have it bandied about in the press. You keep it under your hat, you hear me!" It was almost a threat.

          "Don't worry. I won't say a word. It'd serve no purpose. But, Steven, the department is receiving hate mail."

          "What?" Steven sounded alarmed.

          "Yes, hate mail. We get the odd letter from family members of people we've arrested, but this is different. It's from all over the country regarding you and Sarah. One of the worst was from someone calling himself the Son of Lucifer. He wrote something along the lines of...."

          Steven interrupted her. "'You don't deserve the love of an Angel. Your incompetence almost got her killed. Do us all a favor and go back to the woods where you belong.' You got a copy, Helen. I received the original, and it was written in blood. I had it analyzed. The blood is female; the writing is male."

          Sarah strained to hear over her preparations for lunch. The only words that she heard were "written in blood."

          Her concern was matched by Helen's reaction.

          "Written in blood? When did you receive it?"

         "Early May. Then just days later, I received another one. It was a threat.   'Walk away, Detective. Leave my Angel to find peace. You've hurt her enough. This is my only warning. Leave her or you will pay the ultimate price!' Same writing, same bloody border."

          "And since then?"

          "A third one, even odder. 'Don't worry, Detective. I'll take excellent care of her. No harm will come of my angel, my demon.'"

          This time she heard "my angel" but nothing else. She now knew what had caused his distraction. She kept listening as she prepared lunch, but could only pick up a few words here and there, running water, and fumbling through the cupboards covered their words. But it did not matter; she heard what she needed too. Their vacation was over.

         "Shit. That is one strange bird," Helen commented.

         "I know, but he sounds harmless." Steven seemed unimpressed.

         "Do you really think letters written in blood are harmless?" She was incredulous.

         "With all the craziness out there today, who's to say it isn't a man and a woman, his hand writing, her blood, trying to be funny?"

          "I guess you're right," Helen told him, but she did not sound convinced. "What's the world coming to?"

          "I don't know. Hate mail? It's the last thing I expected. Why didn't you tell me when I called? How's the department taking it?"

          "I wasn't aware of it until last week. The Captain knew I was coming home. He asked me to stop by and assess the situation. See if you're ready to come back. At first he thought your absence was a good thing; now he's not so sure."

          "What about the team?" Steven's voice was filled with worry.

          "They think you've abandoned them. That you're hiding out while they take the flack." Helen spoke more softly. "I know that's not the deal, but Steven it looks bad, regardless."

          "I can't leave. Not now," Steven insisted.

Sarah could tell he had mixed feelings and that once again she was the reason.

          "She's still recuperating. I can't take her back to that mess, not yet," he admitted.

          "She's got to toughen up sometime, Steven. You have to let her do it. You can't hide out here in the wilderness forever. You can't protect her from the world."

         Sarah knew Helen was right. He did not want to leave to get married because she would become aware of the stories in the press. He was trying to protect her at the expense of his own reputation. She's right, Steven. You can't protect me. It's time we got back to reality. It's time. Determined, but saddened, Sarah finished her work and joined them on the patio.

          Steven knew the minute he saw her that she had overheard. His heart sank. She smiled, avoided his eyes, and welcomed Helen to their home away from home.

          "I don't think I've ever seen you look so relaxed, Helen." Sarah put the tray down and shook her hand.

          "My family's from Boise. My sister's wedding was yesterday. I wanted to say hello to you and Steven before I went back to Anchorage," Helen informed her.

          Sarah poured the ice tea while Steven put out the plates. He watched her closely.

          "Tell me what's happening in Anchorage. I've been feeling homesick," Sarah told Helen as she served lunch.

          They enjoyed their meal and idle conversation. Helen left several hours later with a cooler full of fresh trout. Steven saw her off, and returned to find Sarah packing. He wrapped his arms around her from behind.

          "This isn't necessary. We don't have to go back, not right away." He turned her toward him and hugged her.

          She clung to him. Her tears wet his shirt. He sat down on the edge of the bed with her. "It's going to be all right. I promise."

          "Why didn't you tell me?" She wiped her eyes with the tissue he gave her.

          "I just wanted you to have some peace. If anyone deserves it, you do."

          "Thank you." She kissed him tenderly on the cheek. "But Helen was right. You have to get back to Anchorage, and I have to start living in the real world. You can't protect me from life." She brushed another tear aside. "I just want to know how many other people know."

          "Know?" His brows furrowed.

          "The rape? How many know about the rape?"

          He sighed. "Besides me and Helen, I think John does. We didn't really discuss it, not in so many words. I think he guessed." He watched as the news hit her and she shrank in size.

          "I guess...I thought if I didn't speak of it again, I could handle it." She started to sob. "After all this time...."

          Her tears broke his heart. He held her close and felt useless. "I know, angel, but I think you should see someone. You need help to deal with it, and I'm not qualified." His experience with rape was to arrest the rapist, show compassion for the victim, and recommend counseling. It was the only thing he was capable of doing, even for the girl he loved. "Come on. How about a hot soak in the tub."

          She smiled despite her tears. "Your solution for everything."

          "I know my limitations." He hugged her tightly.

          "Okay, but tomorrow we go home. I'll go see a counselor, if you'll go back to work. You're tired of twiddling your thumbs and we're both tired of trout. Even Helen noticed when we served her roast beef instead of fish, then gave her a cooler full to take back with her."

          Steven chuckled. "I know, but she has a big family. It won't go to waste. There's one other thing."

          "What?" He could hear the worry in her voice.

          "We have to go back separately. I thought I would go back first. We'll drive to Washington together and I'll fly back right away. You can spend another week or two at Cliff House and then come home. If we go back together the press will pounce for sure."

           "I never considered that, but you're right. However, I think you should call Helen and fly back with her. I'll drive to Seattle, but instead of going to Cliff House I'll call Leeann and see if she'll let me hide out at her place in Hawaii, maybe she'll even join me."

          "I hate to think of you driving back all by yourself."

          "Please don't. I need to. I need to be able to do things on my own. I promise I won't talk to strangers!"

          "Deal." He kissed her warmly.

          "Go, make your phone calls. I think that bubble bath was a good idea."

           Steven knew she was right, but when he left the room to call Helen and the airport to arrange for a ticket, he called John first, to arrange for someone to follow Sarah. He refused to let her travel alone, not with the threats coming daily.

          That night he lay awake for a long time watching her sleep. He delicately moved a few stray hairs from her cheek. She looked so peaceful. He loved her more than life. He wanted nothing more than to marry her and start a family, but his last case, the Valentine murders, had taken a toll on his reputation and Sarah's health. They needed this time to get back on their feet. Sarah had needed the time to heal, but she was right. It was time to return to the real world.

          His job as lead detective for the Anchorage police department was something he enjoyed, but recently it had gotten too much press. The Valentine murder case had been wrapped up in Washington State, and he had given credit for its conclusion to his friend, Washington Detective Terry O'Connor. Soon after, the press in Anchorage questioned his abilities. They blamed him because she was shot, accused of murder, even arrested. It did not matter what the truth was. It had been two months, and the stories were getting worse. He wondered what would happen when they went home. He was about to nod off when she moved as though she were uncomfortable in her skin. Deep sighs, hurried breaths, and then she spoke. She's talking in her sleep.

          He strained to hear. "Forgive me, Master. I'm ready. I promise. I'm ready." She spoke in such a calm monotone.

          He reached over to wake her, but she fought him, tossing and turning as though she were trying to get away. He knew it was something she was seeing in her dream. Then she screamed, struggling at first to find her voice. Suddenly she shrieked so loud he thought his ear drums would burst, but she still slept. He pulled her close despite her flailing arms. He held her tight.

          "It's all right. It's just a dream. Wake up, angel. Wake up. Please." He spoke to her softly but with strength.

          She went limp, silent. Her eyes opened. She looked through him. "Sarah. Angel, what's going on? Talk to me." After a few moments, the light came back into her eyes.

          "Steven?" She sat up. "A nightmare?" Gradually she became aware of her surroundings.

           "Do you remember it?" he asked.

          She seemed thoughtful for a moment. "No. It's gone."

         "You spoke. Before the screams, you said. 'Forgive me, Master. I'm ready. I promise. I'm ready.' Does that ring a bell?"

          "I said those exact words?"

          He nodded.

          She shivered. "Talking in my sleep. That's curious." She left his arms. Usually she cuddled close after a bad dream. Tonight was different, she practically flew out of his arms. She was pale, fidgety, and she would not look at him. She put on a nightgown.

          He moved toward her. "It's all right."

          She backed away.

          "Angel?" Her rejection hurt. He wanted to stop her, but thought better of it. This dream was different, and while she said she could not remember it, he wondered if she was being honest.

          "I need air. I'm sorry...." She hurried to the living room.

He knew she was working to get her fear under control. He followed. He felt unqualified, powerless—he kept his distance and let her deal.

          She went immediately to the fireplace and lit the fire. Even though it was June, the mountain nights were chilly. She poured herself a brandy. "Want one?"

          He nodded. "We need to talk about this." He sat down on the couch and patted the seat. "Come on."

         "Why, it was just a bad dream." She snuggled up next to him.

         "This one was different. You can't remember it and yet you're still shaking."

         "I know, usually I can, but this one was gone as soon as I opened my eyes."

         "Do you think it's because we decided to go home?"

         "No, I don't think so. Something odd happened today—maybe it's just left over from that?"

         "What happened, you didn't mention anything earlier." His voice was filled with concern.

        "I'd forgotten it until now. When I was at the waterfall, I got this feeling that I was being watched. My painting, it had this haunted quality, it was...spooky." She shivered at the memory.

          "Did you see anyone, hear anyone?"

         "No. I'm sure it was just my imagination, but when I woke up. I was back there in that moment...that horrible feeling...it was overwhelming. I'm sorry, when we get home, I'll see a counselor. It's the best I can do." Defeat filled her voice. "I know you don't have time for this. I wish things were different. I wish I were different."

          "I don't. I love you nightmares and all." He kissed her, and she responded but suddenly pulled away from him.

          "Your turn!" She curled up against him. Resting her head on his chest, she continued. "We've dealt with me, my problems. Now it's time to deal with yours."

          He lifted her gently off his chest and stood. Sarah pulled her legs up under her chin and watched him closely. At the fireplace, he pretended interest in the crackling flames.

          "What makes you think I have any problems?" he asked.

          "Well, for one, you have to put up with me." She smiled. "But also because there's something deeper going on. You forget I heard most of your conversation with Helen. I know about the hate mail. I couldn't hear everything, just something about them being written in blood and the word angel. Are you going to tell me what was said?"

          He took a deep breath, and then proceeded to give her a safe summary.    "They were warnings to me, at first he was upset that I'd allowed you to be hurt, and then he just cautioned me to take better care of you. It's harmless really."

          "Written in blood?"

          This time he lied. "It wasn't real blood it was red ink made to look like blood. This clown was just trying to be clever. It's nothing for you to worry about."

           "Then why are you?"

           "I'm not." He could not look at her. He put another log on the fire. "Okay, you're right. It bothers me. But given everything that's happened aren't I allowed to be a little overprotective?"

           "Just exactly who are you trying to convince? You're obsessed with something. You're making frequent phone calls. Is it to find out what the latest story is? That's not like you. If you were calling because of a difficult case, I could understand, but..."

          He sat down on the opposite end of the couch and gulped his brandy. "I wasn't prepared for the press turning against me. At least not such a vicious response and now hate mail. It's crazy."

          "There's more though, isn't there?" she probed.

          He looked at her closely, worried, and yet pleased by her concern. "Yes. When I solved that first case eleven years ago, the Snowman, it was a fluke. I mean I didn't solve anything. I stumbled upon it. But the press was glowing, making me all—out heroic. That's when they nicknamed me Hawk. I know it was because of my heritage. It was a way to give native Alaskans pride, a publicity stunt cooked up by someone in the public relations department. It didn't feel right then either. I mean, I didn't deserve all the accolades. I was just as uncomfortable then as I am now. It's like karma has made its rounds."

          She moved closer and took his hands in hers.  "No. The only karma you have to worry about is the rewards for all your heroic work. You're courageous. You've earned that name over and over again since that first case. You've proven your worth. This last one won't destroy years of success."

          "Not even a little prejudiced?" He smiled. "Thank you. I know you're partially right, and I do want to get back to Anchorage. But I'm no hero. I'm just a man, and I make mistakes ... I made plenty of them during...."

           "We all made mistakes, and we agreed to lay the blame where it belongs," she reminded him.

          He pulled her closer. "I see my lectures have not fallen on deaf ears." He chuckled. "Now remind me why we've been hiding out in the Mountains of Idaho?"

          "I thought it was practice for the honeymoon?" She whispered and snuggled deeper into his powerful arms.

          He kissed her, and soon they were lost in the magic of love. It was the only place they could go where the world could not interfere.

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            At ten the next morning a sound reverberated through the woods that had all the creatures in a one-mile radius running for their lives. Lucifer exploded from the forest like a tyrannosaur on the scent of prey, and went straight to Sarah's cabin. He could tell at first glance that she was gone. He had waited by the waterfall and when she did not show at nine, he began to worry, but maintained his cool. When it was almost ten and she still was not there, he knew he had blown his opportunity.

            He bellowed his rage and went in search, his anger escalating with each step. This was the day he meant to take her for his own. His disappointment was excruciating. His skin, tight with mounting fury, was bright red. Within seconds, he was in the cabin looking for anything that would tell him where she had gone. In a back room he found her art supplies and covered with white muslin, he found her last painting. The one she had finished yesterday. He stood back to admire it.

          "She saw me!" He was astounded that she had noticed his presence. His love for her grew. "I knew we were connected, my angel. I bow to your supreme talent, and I accept your gift." His anger was gone. He wrapped the picture carefully. "Stay safe my angel, stay safe. We will meet soon."

            In the living room he hit redial on the phone.

            "Boise Airport, how can I help you?" A soft voice answered.

            He hung up. "Fly home, angel. Our meeting is delayed, but only delayed." He set the cabin on fire, watched it burn to the ground, then left with his prize.