Deception by Cyndi L. Stuart

He reached out to adjust the planter of pink and white orchids on the table an inch to the left. When his skin touched the smooth pottery, a spark raced through his fingers and the synapsis in his brain fizzed and popped. A vivid image flashed in his mind of how beautiful she looked wearing a ski sweater in those same colors when they met right before Christmas. His eyes glinted as he surveyed the one-room cabin with its knotty pine paneling, river rock fireplace, and kitchenette. When his gaze reached the cozy down comforter draped over the four-poster bed, he smiled.

Perfect. Simple. Tasteful. A touch of innocence. Just like her.

It had taken hard work over the past few months to pique her interest. He’d hired assistants before, but never through a service. In those first few virtual meetings, he had her pegged as smart, sexy, and eager to please. Susceptible. But he’d miscalculated. She’d surprised him by behaving contrary to type. Her interest in only the work, even with all his attempts to flirt and flatter, at first confused, but then excited him.

After a few weeks of trying to catch her off guard by being solicitous and then uninterested, he changed tactics. A grin filled his face as he thought back to the day the phone rang.

“I’ll never waste your time, Mr. Locke!” Sid spat out after he’d let a week go by without answering any of her texts or emails. “If I’m asking a question, then it’s to move your project forward. Me waiting days or weeks will get you nowhere. No answer? Fine. Then no research. Your choice, your money.”

He imagined her beautiful green eyes flashing fury as she berated him. That’s when he suggested, as if an afterthought, that they work side by side to meet his deadline.

Just then, his thigh vibrated. He pulled out his cell and let out a long breath.

Her text read: Leaving Greenwater GPS says 37 minutes away.

The muscles in his shoulders relaxed and the tingle came back into his fingers as he replied: Great! Door code-3323, WiFi pswd: snowberry#b. Need anything, I’m next door in cabin A. See you AM for breakfast.

He needed her away and out of sight, and now he had done it. She’d arrive and it would begin.

***

Sid dropped her phone onto the passenger seat and pulled back on to highway 410. While she’d seen only a few flakes in Enumclaw, a white whirlwind now swirled around her old 4-wheel drive and flew into her windshield as she picked up speed. She leaned forward and peered through the top of the windshield to see the trees thicken and the road begin to climb. The snow that was now sticking to the frost that lay heavy on the ground twinkled as her headlights bounced off the metal guardrails. She smiled a satisfied smile.

Her phone rang. Oh, boy, here we go.

“So, you’re pretty damn proud of yourself, aren’t you?” A voice bellowed through the speakers in the car, causing her to marvel at the sudden pang of baseless schoolgirl guilt.

Sid snorted. “It’s not the end of the civilized world, Brigid. I’ll be fine. There’s a town down the road from the cabin and a big ski area further up the mountain. This was cleared by The Office. And…” Sid talked fast before Brigid could jump back in, “…what’s not provided, I have packed with me. Stop clucking.”

Brigid mumbled a few more words before Sid cut in. “I get it. It’s my first time playing point. But I’ve worked with hundreds of clients. I don’t see what all the angst is for.”

“The angst, youngster,” Brigid spat, “is that you’ve never gone out into the wilderness with one ALONE! How thick is that noggin of yours? Can you see how this might worry me just a wee bit?” Sid heard a long sigh through the speakers. Then her boss barked, “What’s the forecast? I trust you’ve seen to it, yes?”

“Yup. The snow will start tonight and there’ll be ten to twelve inches in the next three days.”

Sid confirmed she had the satellite phone, and Brigid knew she didn’t go anywhere without The Book. She shook her head and laughed at the boss’ final command as she clicked off.

“Remember, this is NOT a solo assignment. When—if—it’s time, you call in the team. No argument.”

What horrifying end could befall me in the wilds of the Cascades with an author?

***

Up early the next morning, Sid’s soft footfalls disappeared with each step as the snow fell fast and heavily onto the ground. Through her thick gloves she could feel the chill inching its way to her fingertips and with each full breath the inside of her nose stung, and lungs prickled.

As she turned to make her way out of the trees, she slipped a tattered red leather-bound book back into her rucksack and gave it a quick pat. Coming around the corner of the cabin, she smiled to see two giant white souffles parked side by side in the driveway. But as she stepped onto the far end of the porch, movement by the front brought her to an abrupt stop. A man stood peering in her window.

She’d met David Locke in person only once at a small coffee shop in December. Within minutes of meeting him, one thought came to mind—diva. And why not? He looked like an underwear model and his best-selling, sexy, psychological thrillers brought him notoriety and a legion of swooning fans.

Now, here he was, a Peeping Tom. Privileged little prick, she thought. Maybe Brigid was right. What am I doing out here alone with this guy?

Sid sidled up behind him. “Did you try knocking?”

“Jesus!” David yelped and as he swung around, one of the grocery bags he held began to fall. Sid’s hands shot out and grasped the bag just before it hit the ground. “Oh, Sid. Whew. You scared the crap out of me.”

“Well, if I’d been inside, you’d have scared the crap out of me, peeking in like that,” Sid said as she punched in the door code.

David only laughed and stepped inside. “Wow, what a nice dump of snow overnight, right?” He hung up his coat on one of the hooks by the door and shook the cold flakes from his hair. “So great. And it’s still coming down. They sure got the forecast wrong. There was no talk of this much snow this fast.”

“Yeah,” Sid said with a cautious smile as she moved toward the kitchen, keeping one eye on her client. “Looks like we’re snowbound.”

“Hey, that’s a cool old book,” David said as Sid spun around to see him sit his laptop on the kitchen table and glance over at her open rucksack on the chair. In one swift movement, Sid pulled tight the leather cords on the gusset and placed it out of sight before David’s outstretched hand could reach it.

With a wave she said, “Oh, that’s research for something else. No modern-day killers in there.” She then pointed to the laptop. “You’re raring to go?”

“That’s why you’re here, right?” He beamed. “But first, breakfast.”

As David busied himself in the kitchen, Sid stared at his back and thought about all the social media sites, newspapers, and television appearances she’d researched. In every one, he’d been cagey about where he lived and his hometown roots. After using up twenty billable hours and still nothing of substance to report, she made her pitch to the powers that be for a more hands-on approach.

Now, as she sat in this little cabin with the smell of bacon and her stomach growling, she felt confident in her decision to spend January researching killers. David’s suggestion to work in person was the perfect solution. She would see firsthand how his process worked and then make the call.

***

The Lost Girl – Chapter 4

From the shadows he watched her walk to her car. Ian marveled at her lack of concern. Only a few cars were left in the parking garage as she made her way to a dark blue Audi. The tip-tap of her heels echoed off the cement walls. His whole body ached to snatch her tonight, but he held himself together. There’s plenty of time, he reminded himself. This is a process. No short…

“This is crap,” David muttered as he whipped and clicked the mouse around.

Sid snorted from the other side of the kitchen table. “It’s not crap. For cripes’ sake, do all writers torture themselves over every single word? It’s been what? Three hours and you’ve written…” She moved to look over David’s shoulder at the screen. “…four paragraphs? Yikes!”

As she reached across the table to turn her laptop around, her arm brushed his shoulder, and an earthy, rich smell with a touch of sweetness, like fallen leaves in a damp forest, wafted across his face.

“Here, read this. The principles of criminal profiling. Maybe you’ll get inspired. I’ll make more coffee.”

He sighed and pulled her laptop closer, but instead of looking at the article, he watched her body move around the kitchen. No good words would flow until their story played out—that he knew.

“Okay, killers—deviant minds—are your specialty,” she said as she returned with two coffee mugs. “Your readers love to fear them and love that poor detective you put through hell to track them down. So…” Sid pulled a book out of a stack on the table. The cover showed a panic-stricken woman running down an alley. “… Take Danger at the Door, your first novel. Your killer flirted with the victim for weeks before garroting her out the back of her own bakery just before dawn. How’d you come up with that?”

As David stared into Sid’s eyes and gave the pat answer to the question he’d answered many times before, his thoughts wandered. Perfect, she’s hanging on every word. Keep her occupied just a little longer. She has nowhere to go. The snow’s been a godsend.

Sid took her laptop back and clicked over to a new page. “Well, not every writing trick works for every story, does it? How about trying some true crime? How about this guy?” She spun the screen around again to face him. “Howard Knapp.”

David’s gaze froze on the old image of a handsome man in his late thirties smiling for the camera with a courtroom in the background. Before he could stop himself, the words leaped out of his mouth, “How-ow-ard Knapp?”

“Yes, do you know the case?”

He felt her innocent eyes on him, but he couldn’t look away from the screen.

“N-n-o-o, I don’t think so. The name sounds familiar.”

“I’m not surprised. It was huge news. Knapp was convicted of kidnapping, torturing, and killing three Seattle women in the early two-thousands. It took the police years to find him and bring him to trial. He’s been on death row—what?—eleven years? His execution is set for next month.”

David kept his hands clasped to his thighs, so Sid wouldn’t see the tremor as it moved over his body. He knew he had to keep it together. He had to stick to the plan.

“You could get a lot from him,” Sid said as she pointed to the article.

“What?” David blurted.

“I see a lot of Knapp in your killers.”

***

David handed Sid a glass of wine with a broad smile as she rose from stoking the fire.

“Here’s to a great first week.” He clinked his rim against hers and lifted the Pinot Noir to his lips. His eyes never left her face. “Being snowed in wasn’t so bad.”

“The first week,” said Sid as the two glasses came together. “Although,” she chuckled, “I wasn’t sure, after that awful start on day one. What a mess.”

He laughed and clinked her glass again. “It’s all thanks to you. You got me out of my rut with that great profiling research.”

“Ahem.” Sid cleared her throat. “And I quote, ‘Patterns of thinking directs behavior,’ unquote.” She grinned. “That’s all I added, plus a few case studies. You made it work on the page.” She lifted the glass to the firelight and rolled the stem between her fingers. “Hmm, this is a very nice red. Nice legs.”

“Do you know much about wine?” David asked. His eyes followed the wine as it moved toward her lips.

Sid laughed and he felt her gaze linger on his face. “Just enough to sound like I do. I drink what I like.”

I love how her eyes dance, he thought. What is it about those eyes?

Then another voice in his head commanded, Patience! Don’t rush it. This whole thing almost went up in smoke with that Knapp fiasco. Stay focused! With a little effort he’d steered them away from the death row case and the rest of the week shifted to her academic research on serial killers.

A few minutes later, Sid’s hand went to her temple. She chuckled and shook her head. “Hey, was that wine from some secret bootlegged batch? The alcohol is moving fast.”

David grinned. “I’m feeling it too.” He walked over to the table, picked up the bottle and waved the winery label at her. “No. No homemade hooch.”

“Maybe we should sit down,” he said with a laugh and made his way to the sofa with the bottle still in his hand.

As he lifted the wine again to his lips, he realized he did indeed feel it. But if he’d given her his glass by mistake, she would be feeling nothing.

“I’m thinking food,” said Sid as she went to the kitchen, picked up the loaded charcuterie board and brought it over to the coffee table. Then, with a giggle, she half sat and half fell beside him. “Boy, we are two lightweights.”

David gave Sid a sly grin and topped off her glass. “Who cares? We aren’t driving.”

He felt her shoulder press into his as her head turned. Their lips were now only inches away from each other. The voice in his head warned, Slow it down. But his body knew what it wanted.

“Shall we lie down for a minute?” He lifted her off the sofa and in two strides they were on the bed.

In a soft, sleepy voice, she said, “I’m not sure if this is a good idea.”

Now with his body pressed against hers, he again caught a whiff of her perfume. He plunged his lips into her neck and murmured, “Hmm, what is that scent?”

Right before he closed his eyes, he felt her hands roll him onto his back and her legs straddle him. Then came far away words as if in a dream, “Deception, David. It’s called Deception.”

***

He awoke to a savage shriek with a force that wrenched him up and out of bed. The cabin stood dark and silent except for the glow from a single candle in the east window. He took slow, shaky steps toward the light. His head pounded and his vision slid in and out of focus.

Where was she? He turned back to see the bed empty. Didn’t we both lie down on the bed? How long ago was that? It’s so cold.

In the stillness, a sudden gust of wind shook the cabin, and the candle went out. His head spun around, and he pressed his nose against the frigid window. His eyes grew wide, and he jumped back with a sudden shout.

“Jesus! What the hell?”

Six pairs of nocturnal eyes flashed iridescent yellow and green in the darkness. He jerked up his arm and used his shirtsleeve to rub his breath off the glass.

“Oh, my God!” His body lurched back and tumbled over the end table, sending a lamp skidding across the floor to crash against the wall. He stared up to see the eyes now at the window.

A soft whisper came from behind him. “I’d like to introduce you to The Office, David.”

“Arggggh!” David cried out and then caught himself when he recognized the voice. “Oh, Sid, it’s you. You scared the shit out of me. We’ve got to call the police. There’s someone out…” His words trailed off when he looked back to find himself alone in the room. Then her words sunk in.

“Sid?” He called out. “What do you mean, introduce the office?”

“Just what I said,” a voice replied as smooth as glass. “This is The Office. The team you hired. You brought us here.”

“Wha-a-a-t? I hired you. I brought you out here, not…not…this.” David swept out his arm toward the window, but as he turned to look, his gaze froze. “Holy shit!”

The eyes were now in the room. In every corner. They surrounded him. David then felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck. He leaped and let out a scream.

“You brought me here to make me part of your next story, didn’t you, David? Like the others. But plans change.”

As Sid rose from the floor where she crouched, her sable hair stood out from her head, wild and tangled. In her hands, she held open that same antique book with its spine embossed in gold letters. The page throbbed with a faint light, but he couldn’t make it out. He did glimpse the glow of old calligraphed illuminations in brilliant metallic greens, reds, and blues before it closed with a soft thwap.

A movement on the floor caught his eye, and the sounds of cracks and creaks filled his ears. He gasped and jerked back as tree roots crept toward his feet. He couldn’t pull his gaze away as Sid’s jeans transformed into a long dark trunk of a tree, and her sweater morphed into leaves and branches that reached up to encircle her shoulders. From the shadows came those green and yellow eyes, but now he could see they were women—women who looked like Sid—untamed and hypnotic.

David tasted salt as sweat dripped from his upper lip into his mouth. His throat went dry, and he felt a sudden grab in his groin as if his bladder would let go at any minute. Blood and terror coursed through his body. He’d never been so afraid, nor so aroused. He then heard soft laughter move around the room.

“No, no, David,” said Sid with a lilt in her voice as she pointed to his crotch, “there will be none of that.” The woman laughed harder.

“Sid, wha-wha-what’s going on? What’s happening?”

“Tell me what you really know about Howard Knapp?” Sid said as she opened a leather bag and spread its contents on the kitchen table.

“Kna-a-a-pp?” No matter what he tried, he couldn’t stop the spasms in his throat. He gulped and then froze with his gaze fixed on his leather roll of knives, scalpels, and saws now unfurled before him. “Wh-h-h-ere did you get that b-b-b-ag?”

“Oh, this? I found it under your bed, right where you left it. Oh, and I found something else.” David saw a notebook in Sid’s hand. His body began to tremble. “What an enlightening journal showing the real plot for your next book, not that work of utter rubbish you have tried to slip by me this week.”

“As for Knapp, didn’t I tell you?” Sid picked up a long, curved blade. “The families who are working to keep your muse on death row hired the law firm that hired The Office. Which, in turn, gave me full access to the court documents, Knapp’s history, and those little visitors’ logs.”

Now the other women closed in tight around him. He swallowed hard and shook his head back and forth.

“And what a surprise to see the name of David Locke all over those logs, going back—what?—more than eight years? Right about the time you wrote your first best seller. Right about the time a woman went missing.”

His eyes darted in every direction, desperate to find a way out. He moved in a small circle and when he glimpsed the door, he lunged between two of the women. They only laughed, grabbed him by the arms, and shoved him back inside the circle. The twigs and branches protruding from their bodies held long, sharp thorns that reached out to bite and scratch his skin. He winced and fell. As he tried to get back up, one of the women held his head down as another pointed a finger to the floor. On the ground around him were three photos. Each held the image of his women. Not the made-up ones in his novels, but his women. The ones he’d used to work out all the details, all the subtle plot points of the story, all the reality of terror that gave him the edge other writers didn’t have. They’d never lived their stories. But he had.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice? Did you think we wouldn’t find you? We found Knapp—your great uncle—all those years ago. In fact, he was more than happy to take credit for your success as well as his own.”

“H-ow-ow did you get in to see him?”

“Haven’t you noticed? I can be very persuasive.”

David winced as she pulled the cold blade alongside his cheek.

“Our mistake was leaving it to the authorities.”

“Wh-a-at… what are you going to do to me?” David sobbed.

Sid leaned over his crouched body and once again, that cold breeze brushed against his skin.

“Don’t you know what’s next, David?” she asked with a wide-eyed smile. “You’ve written about it so many times—over and over again.”

The women’s bodies rose from the floor, their lips shone bright red, their nails, and teeth lengthened into long, sharp points, and their eyes glistened like emerald gemstones. As the branches of their arms reached out and pulled him up onto shaking legs, he felt a warmth spread over his thighs and a chill trickled over his ankles. He looked down to see a pool of his own urine around his feet.

As one, out came a piercing cry that wrenched open the sky. His heart pounded in his ears. Voices came from all directions—all whispers in his mind—as their hold tightened, the thorns pierced, and the blood flowed.

Don’t you recognize it, David? The feverish despair? The terror of being trapped? You’ve written this bit, again and again, for each and every one of your victims. It’s the moment of triumph for the killer. This is the big reveal! Where your victim finds out what she feared and worse, what she never suspected—that it was the person right in front of her the whole time.

In one sudden movement, he felt hands spin him around to face a creature he almost couldn’t recognize. She stood before the fireplace, roaring with white and blue flames shooting upward. He stared, fixed to the fire reflected in her eye. He begged for it all to stop as she no longer held a blade, but an orange hot poker in her hand.

When she opened her mouth to speak, he gazed, not at lips and teeth, but at an open wound, raw and angry.

“We are the sidhe of the eternal Tuatha Dé Danann, and you have heard the cry of the banshee.”

She leaned in with the hot iron inches from his cheek, her sharp teeth gnashed together, shimmering in the firelight.

“And just in case you missed the plot twist, David. This is when, like your victims before—you scream.”