Shadow of Danger by Kristine Mason

this, too.”
    “Get the fuck outta here. Don’t tell me you’re paranoid over some batty-assed fortune teller. Christ, Toby, sometimes I worry about you.”
    “I’m paranoid. Period,” he snapped, running a hand down his face to rein in the rage. “You should be, too. You should be running scared, and laying low.”
    “Pull your tighty-whities out of your frickin’ ass and settle down. You know I’ve got a job lined up and I’m leaving in a few days for the West Coast. I’ll be gone about four weeks. Can’t think of a better way to lay low, can you?”
    Our time had been back to back because of the job Garrett had taken. Neither of them had been able to go for more than a month without the rush of the hunt and the kill. Although those women were spread around the county, and their limbs were likely torn apart and scattered by coyotes, he still worried. While he doubted the others would be found in the near future, if at all, the discovery of the whores Garrett had killed could complicate things and leave an additional loose end. Garrett.
    Not wanting to consider Garrett a loose end, he took a positive approach. Garrett would be gone for a month, maybe more. Without having to worry about him, he could focus on what the sheriff and his new partners knew. “No, I can’t.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you at this time in two days.”
    “On what phone? D or maybe K,” he laughed. “I can’t keep track with all your cloak and dagger bullshit. Dude, you need to relax.”
    Relax? Garrett had dumped four bodies in his backyard. He couldn’t risk being caught. Not yet. Not when he’d waited, bided his time for all of these years in this shitty town.
    “Just stay cool, and sober,” he said again.
    “That’s a ten-four good buddy. Then when all the shit dies down, we’ll have our time. ”
    Our time.
    Those two words aroused him, especially the way Garrett had said them. Low. Husky. He rubbed his dick. “Can’t. We had our time too close together, and now this...”
    “We’ve been through this before,” Garrett reassured him. “Maybe it’s time for a change of scenery? I’m sick of these winters around here.”
    “I just need a few more months to tie up loose ends, and then we’re gone.”
    “Those loose ends could have been tied up a long time ago,” Garrett snapped, all traces of amusement gone. “But what the fuck do I know.”
    The phone line went dead. Just as well, he thought as he dropped the disposable cell into the drawer, then locked the tool chest. Garrett might have thought he knew what those loose ends were, and in some regards he did. But there were still some secrets he’d kept to himself, secrets that he’d eventually let Garrett in on when the time was right.
    That is, if Garrett didn’t become one of those loose ends.
    *
    Ian Scott sat at his desk, nursing a Scotch. The evening news ran on the flat screen TV encased in the bookshelf of his office, the volume muted. He wasn’t interested in the news. His focus remained on the unopened manila folder in front of him and the call he expected at any minute.
    He stared at the folder filled with thirty years of notes, pictures, and letters all worn from age and the many times he’d handled them. He hadn’t opened the folder in six months. Progress, considering he’d tended to review the file on a monthly basis. Why he’d tortured himself, he couldn’t answer. Regret?
    Could be, he thought, then picked up the watered down Scotch. His private line rang before the glass touched his lips.
    He glanced at the clock. “Right on time,” he said as he set down the drink, then picked up the phone. “How are things?”
    “My cholesterol is up, I’m about fifteen pounds overweight, and I’ve got four dead women at the morgue. How’d you think?”
    Smiling, he thought back to the last time he’d seen Roy. Four months ago on their annual fly fishing trip to Canada. Roy had aged well, and he’d appeared as