A Snow Covered Nightmare: Refuge Series Book Two by Debbie Zello (3)

Chapter Three

Briah walked into the station, turning left toward the stairs. His office was at the top, on the right. The sign on the door read ‘Homicide Division.’ She opened it and walked in.

There were six desks, set up in sets of two, facing each other. The tall, dark-haired man with the tanned complexion was on the phone. She watched him from the door, taking in his athletic form. His shoulders were wide and muscular under his white button-down. His broad chest narrowed to a slim waist.

He stood, acknowledging her presence with a wave of his free hand. He gave her the traditional ‘one more minute’ hand signal and then looked down at a paper on his desk as he continued the phone conversation.

Aiden turned slightly to gaze out the window exposing his backside to Briah’s stare. Dear God, why hadn’t she noticed that ass three days ago? His pants clung to the globes as he flexed in movement. Her mind short-circuiting in watching the display. Stress and lack of sleep could do that to you, but so could the sight of a butt like his.

He turned back to her and smiled a wide, welcoming grin. That caused pools of saliva to begin oozing out from the sides of her mouth. She swallowed loudly and brought a hand to catch the escaping drops.

She shook her head, in an attempt to rid herself of these ridiculous thoughts. She wasn’t the kind of girl that lusted. She was a competent, resourceful, independent woman and damn it, she was going to act like one!

“Miss Spencer, how are you doing?” Aiden asked as he walked over to her. He extended his hand to her. She stared at it for a second, before she extended hers.

“I’m all right. I imagine you’ve heard about my crazy stunt last night,” she replied, placing her hand in his. The warmth from his fingers traveled up her arm. He gave her a firm shake and released her hand, as if it was electrocuting him.

“The only thing I heard was that you were scared to death. Thankfully, it turned out to be a false alarm. Better that than the real thing, trust me,” he said smiling. His eyes took a quick look down and back up her body.

Briah was unaware just how stunning she was. She wore a white turtleneck sweater under a black and white ski vest. A pair of black leggings and big white, furry boots on her feet. She looked part cat and part Abominable Snowman.

“Still, I feel so stupid. You should have seen the look on their faces. I was running around in my nightgown screaming that a man was after me. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. I once had to chase a flasher. He was a ‘five-by-five’, you know, five feet tall and five feet wide. Well, he’s naked, I’m behind him, he turns to give up and I run smack into him, face first. Literally, I tripped and fell face first into his junk. I had nightmares for a full month!”

“Okay, that was probably worse. I feel better, thanks,” she giggled.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?’ he asked as they walked to his desk. He pulled up a chair for her to sit in.

“No thanks, I’ve had plenty. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so my day began around two-thirty. I’m hoping I can sleep later.”

“Did you happen to bring your documents for the fund?”

“I did. It’s all here,” she said handing him the large envelope. “I made copies, so you can keep those.”

“Good, thanks.”

“How is the investigation going? Do you have any leads?”

“He was right about one thing. He isn’t in any DNA database we have. He didn’t leave any prints, and the few hairs we found that weren’t yours or Dan’s, didn’t belong to anyone we have info on.

“In our foot search, no one said they heard or saw anything. So, we’re putting it out there that we believe this could have been a scorned girlfriend or a jealous husband, and we’ll see what comes from that. We’re not saying anything about having a witness.”

“I read that his wake is tomorrow night, with the funeral the next morning.”

“Yes, I saw that too. His family has asked to speak to you. I don’t advise discussing anything at the wake or funeral. There will be too many people around that might inadvertently overhear you discussing it. Your anonymity is your best protection right now. Should he find out you saw and heard him, we could have a bigger problem than a mere nightmare.”

“Would you be able to set something up with them? Say…meet me at my apartment tomorrow morning before the wake? That way we could talk freely, without being overheard.”

“I can do that. I’ll call you after I speak with them and give you the details. They’re very nice people.”

“He was too, so I’m sure they are. We’ll talk later,” she said standing. He watched her walk out imagining the itty-bitty panties with the string ties. He could almost taste them.

Briah opened her apartment door so Dan’s parents and sister could come in. After introductions, Briah showed them to her living room couch. She offered them something to drink, but they declined. “Thank you for seeing us,” his father said.

“I’m so sorry about losing Dan. He was such a nice guy. I’ll always miss his sense of humor and his wonderful smile,” Briah said sadly.

“Thank you,” his mother whispered.

“The police told us you were there in the closet and saw everything that happened,” his sister said.

“Yes, I was filing the last of the folders for the week. He had just handed them to me. The closet is adjacent to the door to the office. The way it opens, I couldn’t see anything until he stepped towards Dan’s desk. Then between the space where the hinges are and the crack left open I could see almost everything.”

“You didn’t see his face, though?”

“No. I’m so sorry. When he was talking, the most I could see was the side of his face. I wasn’t thinking because I was so focused on the gun. After the second sound, I must have closed my eyes, because I didn’t see him turn around and leave. If I had kept my eyes open, I might have seen him,” Briah said, beginning to cry. She felt so badly that she could have, should have done more.

“No, Briah, there is no blame here. You did nothing wrong as far as we are concerned. The man who did this shoulders the full responsibility for Dan’s death. We’re so glad you’re here, so when the police find him, you can put him away, for Dan,” his father observed.

Briah didn’t get any answers from them as to why Dan was so closed off about his life. That really didn’t matter anymore now anyway. He was lucky, because his secrets would go to the grave with him.

Briah’s secrets seemed to follow her, and multiply rapidly at that. Now she was involved in a gigantic secret that made the last one seem pale in comparison.

Three years ago, Briah was involved with a man she believed she loved and who loved her. When she met Connor in college, he was so sweet and thoughtful. He was a year ahead of her in pre-law studies. Briah was interested in law and carrying a dual major in business administration. She was bright and beautiful.

Briah was a Professional Ski Instructor of America (PSIA) and (AASI) American Association of Snowboard Instructors, and a certified ski instructor at Spokane Mountain Resort. She mostly gave private lessons to local adults. Occasionally, she gave group lessons, filling in for one of the other instructors.

That’s where Connor ‘ran’ into her, literally. She was skiing behind her students, watching and analyzing their style, when he slid right against her. Grabbing her around the waist to hold her against him, they skied down the mountain tandem. If she had been a less skilled or graceful skier, he would have knocked her down. Instead, she merely took his weight and kept them on their skis.

When they reached the bottom, he asked her to go to dinner with him. Within a few short months, they were a steady couple. Over the next three years, he gradually changed. He used drugs and drank. Briah knew about the drinking, but the drugs were hidden from her. She thought she could help him, even change him. She soon learned differently.

After Connor graduated and left Gonzaga University for law school, Briah began to notice the highs and lows of the drug usage. He couldn’t function in the morning, until he had been to the bathroom. After his shower, he was a dynamo. He could run straight through the day, and stay up half the night, working on papers. Then he would crash, to begin the entire process the next day.

Briah wasn’t the snooping kind of woman. She didn’t check his phone or computer for odd numbers and messages. She didn’t go through his wallet or pockets for receipts. But after speaking with a few friends and doing some research on-line, she began to think he was using cocaine.

So, one morning, after he had left, she tore through their apartment looking for anything that might tell her the truth. She found it in a plastic zip-lock bag taped inside the back of the toilet. Small packets of white powder, she counted ten of them.

It took about an hour, after he had gotten home, for him to discover the missing packets. She had packed her things after her discovery, and put all of her possessions in her car.

He flew out of the bathroom and confronted her, first asking who had been at the apartment that day. Then he noticed the bag on the couch next to her. “You have a decision to make, Connor,” she said holding up the bag. “You can both flush this crap down the toilet and promise me, on what we have together, that you are never going to buy or use this or any drug ever again.

“Or you can come over here and take this from my hand, go back into the bathroom to use it. If you choose that, I won’t be sitting here when you come back out.” The seriousness of her words weighed on him for a few minutes.

He walked slowly to her and took the bag from her hand. He said nothing, but walked back to the bathroom and closed the door. Briah sat there waiting to hear the toilet flush. When it didn’t, she got up shakily and walked out.

Briah didn’t hear from him for months. Being an eternal optimist and a true romantic, she believed he was missing her, and taking the time to try to straighten himself out. Maybe he was going to rehab or counseling. She would hear from him any day now.

She had rented a very small efficiency apartment halfway between school and work. She also adopted a kitten to keep her company. Princess was a very good mouser. Every day, Briah would find a dead something on her step to welcome her home. Princess would, very happily, practically point to the carcass, swishing her tail, waiting for her praise. Briah would kick the thing off the step onto the snow saying with a grimace, “Not again, Princess. Please bring home something besides the dead bodies of rodents.” It was high praise indeed.

Briah began seeing Connor waiting in his car as she came out of the library. He would stare at her and then drive off. She went for a beer with one of her study groups and he followed them into the bar, sitting away from them and staring again.

She went to get new shoes and he followed her there. Then there was the grocery store, pharmacy, post office, Staples, Subway, and pizza place. If she turned around, he was there, stalking in the shadows. He never approached her, nor spoke to her. Just stared, unyielding. If she started to walk to him, he would bolt and run to his car to drive off.

When she’d had enough, she went to the police. Since he had not broken any law, made any threats nor done anything besides creep her out, the best they could do was talk to him. Two officers went to his apartment and told him to knock off the annoying behavior and get a life.

He disappeared again for two months. Briah graduated with honors and found a job with a small manufacturing company as their office manager. Things were good and she was happy.

One of the buyers for the company asked her out to dinner. They were having a very pleasant evening, sipping wine and talking about work and life. She had never told anyone about Connor or his drug usage. She figured that was his cross to bear.

Just as they were leaving the restaurant, Briah saw him sitting alone at a booth near the door. She froze as the look on his face pierced through her. It was pure loathing. She just put her head down, and walked out.

Princess had an incredibly distinct cry. It sounded very much like a baby. Two days after the restaurant incident, Princess didn’t come home. Briah went to bed and after midnight, she heard Princess’s cry. Briah searched the house and looked outside but couldn’t find her.

Then it was every night for a week, at all different times. With her windows open to let in the cool June air, she figured out the cry was definitely coming from outside.

Briah turned off all the lights and closed her shades just as she did every night. She stood near her door waiting to hear Princess’s cry and then she was going out the door to catch that damn cat. Once she caught her, she would never go out again. Someone was going to be getting some sleep and that someone was Briah.

She was sitting on the floor, her legs having given out around two in the morning. Then she heard her crying. Briah opened her door quietly and snuck out turning to the left from where she believed the noise was coming.

As she rounded the corner, she saw what she thought was a figure crouching on the ground. She took a step closer and her foot slid on some gravel. The noise alerted the figure and it took off running. She heard something clatter to the ground. She didn’t chase after the shape. She was armed with a flash light and nothing more.

Briah turned it on to look around for her cat and the object that the person had dropped. She found a small digital voice recorder in the grass. She took it back to her apartment.

She turned on a light so she could have a better look at the recorder. She pressed the play button and out came Princess’s cry. Over and over the cat cried. Briah began weeping. That dark person, somehow, had recorded her cat’s cry, but why?

The next morning her question was answered. She opened her door to leave and Princess was on her step. She retrieved a towel from the bathroom and wrapped her up in it. She took her to the vet, who confirmed for Briah that the cat’s neck had been forcibly broken. It couldn’t have been an accident.

With the vet’s report and the recorder, she went back to the police. Again, she was told that without proof, there was nothing they could do, besides talk to him again. Briah stared at the detective with incredulity. “You mean he has to actually hurt me or threaten me in front of someone before you can do anything to him? He just killed my cat.”

“You have proof that he killed your cat? A confession or a witness, maybe? Without that, what we have is your supposition. I believe you, that it is most likely him doing all of this. That and two bucks will get you a coffee,” the detective said.

Briah got up and walked out. On her way past the main desk, a female officer stopped her, saying, “I know he sounds like a jerk. But he’s right. You can’t get a restraining order based on what you believe he’s doing. We can’t arrest him on that either. Besides, a restraining order isn’t going to stop him.

“If he killed your cat, he is sending you a clear message. You are next. Get out, leave, while you can. Don’t tell anyone where you are going and only your family once you get there. Leave your phone behind and get a new one when you stop. Don’t assume that one of your friends isn’t one of his too.

“Caution your family that they can’t tell anyone where you are, no one, do you understand? I hope you take my advice, and I wish you luck.”