Chapter Ten
The morning light, shining bright, crept over the brick facade, slanted across the theatre’s front steps when Casey pulled into the lot. The unseasonably warm air kept gold and russet leaves clinging to the branches. She got out of the car, grabbed her briefcase, and made her way inside.
The building hummed with its usual sounds: muffled chatter, distant footsteps, hammers pounding, a rolling cart somewhere backstage.
She unlocked her office and stepped in. Thin wisps of sunshine filtered through the closed blinds.
She set her briefcase down, booted up the computer, then went to the window and opened the slats.
A few cars passed by, squirrels jumped from trees, but her thoughts weren’t in the moment.
They were still on the Harley she’d heard the afternoon before.
The sound of that bike—deep, rough, unmistakable—had pulled her straight to her office window.
She could still see him in her mind: Rags making a sharp U-turn in the middle of the street, his muscles flexing under the tight T-shirt, before he rode away.
As she’d watched him disappear, something inside her had tightened, then dropped.
Before she could shake the memory off, Raven appeared in the doorway, clutching a cup of coffee.
“You’ve seen the news, right?” she asked, eyes wide.
Casey blinked. “What news?”
“Another woman was killed,” Raven said. “She was found this morning near Henderson.” She lowered her voice. “Dark hair, strangled. Same as the others.”
A chill rippled across Casey’s skin. “That’s five now… right?”
“Yep, except this time the victim wasn’t killed in her home,” another colleague, Lena, said as she came in behind Raven. “They’re saying it might be the same guy. Maybe someone drifting through. Or someone from around here who knows the back roads.”
Casey swallowed. “That’s… awful.”
“Awful?” Lena wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s terrifying. I’ve got pepper spray now. I don’t even walk to my car alone anymore.”
Raven nodded. “I heard they’re telling women to stick to main roads and lock up early. This town feels different lately. Like something’s hanging over it.” She held Casey’s gaze. “You have to be especially careful because you live alone and you have dark hair.”
Casey forced herself to nod, though her hands trembled slightly. The thought of someone out there hunting women who looked like her made her skin crawl.
“I’ll be okay. We’ll all be okay,” she said.
“Curtis worries about you since you live alone,” Raven added.
Casey’s pulse ticked up a notch. “When I was at the store last week, he said you were the one worried about me.”
A quizzical look flickered across Raven’s face before she pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yes, I am worried about you because you’re alone, not like Lena who has auburn hair”—she angled her head toward the younger woman—“and who has a husband to stick close to her.”
“Husband or not, red or blue hair,” Lena said, “I’m terrified. It was one thing when he was breaking into women’s houses, but this latest one was outside. That poor woman was just walking home after a late-night shift.”
“Maybe it’s not the same guy,” Casey said. “Serial killers tend to stick to the same pattern. It could be another nut. Maybe a boyfriend or something. We don’t know. The police always hold things back.”
“Maybe,” Lena said.
“Curtis told me he knows it’s the same guy. He felt the vibration of the murder.” Raven shrugged. “Whatever that means.”
Uneasy dread crept through Casey, the same way it did whenever she went into Curtis’s shop.
For a few seconds the silence in the room was thick, then Raven cleared her throat. “On a lighter note, the last rehearsal was the best we’ve had.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “This is one of our better plays. Simon is a great director, which is essential.”
“He’s directed several plays that have done very well. He was written up in the Denver Post for a production he directed when I was an intern at the Denver theatre complex. I don’t know him very well, but he seems to be really good at his job,” Casey said.
“He’s brilliant, but a bit odd, which goes with the territory, I suppose.” Raven laughed as she continued, “He’s also handsome and loves to flirt, but if a woman gets a little aggressive, he shuts down. Who knows what’s up with that.”
“He gets a lot of attention from the women, though,” Lena said. “Clara has a huge crush on him.”
“Clara? I didn’t know that,” Casey said. I bet Rags wouldn’t like that one bit.
“Yeah, it’s sort of cute,” Lena said.
“Is Simon interested in her?” Casey asked.
“I don’t know,” Lena replied.
“Like I said, he loves to flirt with the women,” Raven said. “I’m sure he’s flattered that a pretty young woman like Clara would be interested in him.”
Casey laughed. “He’s not that old, Raven. I’d say thirty-eight or so. Definitely not forty.”
“Clara’s a baby compared to that,” Raven huffed.
“She’s not that young. We’re about the same age, twenty-seven,” Lena said, glancing at the wall clock. “I better get going. I have a lot of work waiting on my desk.”
“I better go too. The stage is calling me.” Raven tossed the end of her scarf over her shoulder in her usual dramatic way.
Casey smiled. “I have all these budgets,”—she pointed to a stack of papers in the file box on her desk—“to finish up. Not an exciting day for me.”
Lena and Raven laughed, then walked out of the office.
When their footsteps faded, the quiet rushed back in.
Casey sat at her desk, opened a spreadsheet, and got to work.
A couple of hours later, she realized she’d typed the same figures several times and couldn’t remember doing it.
Cussing under her breath, she fixed the numbers, but murders and motorcycles kept flooding her head.
I need to stop thinking about these murders.
And I have to stop thinking about Rags. It’s obvious he’s mad about the way things ended at Blue’s Belly.
Which is what I want. I don’t want to get involved with a biker.
She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease the ache.
But he sure knows how to kiss… Damn him.
She pushed away from the desk. She needed to move, to get out of her head for a few minutes. Locking her office door, she headed down the hallway.
Inside, the theatre smelled faintly of sawdust, old velvet, and cooling stage paint.
Voices echoed somewhere backstage. The sounds of early prep washed over her: a ladder clanking, the shuffle of actors warming up on stage, the low hum of the light board powering on.
She looked around and spotted Jacob crouched over a panel with a screwdriver.
He glanced back over his shoulder, his face brightening.
“Hey! Good to see you on my turf,” he said, hopping to his feet. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine.” She managed a smile. “Just tired. I needed to stretch my legs and get away from spreadsheets.”
Jacob stepped a little closer than she expected, concern tightening his features. “You sure? You look… I don’t know, off.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, softer. “Really. I just needed a break.”
He nodded, but his eyes lingered longer than she liked, warm and too searching. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m around.”
“I know, but I’m good,” she said gently. “Thanks.”
He gave a small shrug and refocused on the lighting console. “You shouldn’t let this job run you into the ground. You work harder than anyone here.”
“Occupational hazard, and no lectures, okay?” she said lightly.
He grinned. “We’ve had this conversation, what, fifty times over the years?”
She laughed. “More like a hundred.”
“You love your job, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“I do, too.” His eyes moved between the console and her. “Want to help me figure out why this dimmer pack hates us? I swear it has a personal vendetta.”
Casey laughed—more from relief than humor—and joined him behind the board.
For a while they worked in comfortable silence, adjusting cues and tapping through menus.
Crew voices filtered in from the stage, and the afternoon hum settled around them.
Casey tried to focus, but her thoughts kept slipping back to the sight of Rags turning away, and how something inside her had crumpled in response.
Jacob moved closer to reset a cue, his shoulder brushing hers. He didn’t pull back right away. The familiar awkwardness curled low in her stomach.
“You smell like vanilla,” he said softly.
Casey stiffened. “Jacob—”
Realization flashed across his face. “Sorry. That came out wrong. Really wrong.”
“It’s fine,” she said gently, though she stepped away. “Let’s just finish the cue sequence.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, cheeks flushing as he turned back to the board.
She exhaled and forced herself to concentrate. Jacob meant well—he always had—but moments like this reminded her how careful she had to be. He was a good friend, steady and loyal, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him. But sometimes she wished he wouldn’t make things so complicated.
She shifted her attention to the monitors, focusing on the patterns. Work always cleared the clutter in her mind. It was steady, predictable, uncomplicated.
Jacob tested the sound, and it burst over her, clear and strong. Casey lifted her thumb and grinned. He mimicked the gesture and dimmed the volume. She ambled back to the console.
“You did it.”
“No, we did it,” Jacob said. His gaze lingered on her for a second too long. “We make a good team.”
“For the theatre,” she said. “Our efforts are always for the theatre.” She laughed. “Does that sound like someone you know?”
“Now you’re throwing my words from years ago back at me?” He leaned back, eyes on her. “That’s what I thought back then, but now… I don’t think work is everything. There’s much more out there, you know?”
Wanting to sidestep that conversation, she nodded. “There is, but right now there are several budget sheets needing my attention.” She started toward the door.